feed da pigeons

tinerii adormiti arunca cu pietre- by vlad ursulean

2012-01-16T07:19:00.000-08:00

de Vlad Ursulean

Sună ciudat, după ce auzim pe toate canalele că e vorba doar de niște huligani, ultrași, puși de dracu’ știe cine să strice frumusețe de protest pașnic. Primele lupte au fost provocate, într-adevăr, de un astfel de grup. Atunci jandarmii au intrat în ei și i-au împins spre Piața Unirii. Și s-a petrecut ceva bizar.

Pe la 9.30, o rumoare străbătea Piața Universității. Cică la Unirii e adevăratul scandal, acolo e pizdeala cu jandarmii. N-aveam nici un chef de asta, mi se părea un protest ultra-obosit și manipulat, dar ceva m-a împins spre locul ăla. Și nu eram singur.

O mulțime de grupulețe se desprind din masa strigătoare de Jos Băsescu, trec prin pasaj și se unesc într-un torent de oameni alimentat de pe toate străduțele Centrului Vechi. Pe la lupoaică nu mai putem trece, e un cordon de jandarmi. Un tip stă în fața lor și le strigă-n caschete: “Băi, eu nu ieșeam dacă aveam cu ce s-o hrănesc pe fiică-mea!” Ocolim pe străduțe, unde-i plin de polițiști locali foarte chill, și găsim o breșă abia pe la Hanul lui Manuc.

“What the fuck?!”

Când ajung la Unirii rămân paralizat și mi se face pielea de găină. În mijlocul străzii sunt două focuri mari, în depărtare se ridică o coloană de fum, dinspre mcdonalds se aud bubuituri ca la bombardament și, oh, țipetele îngrozitoare…

O trupă de jandarmi costumați ca țestoasele ninja trec în fugă pe lângă mine. În stația lor strigă unul să intre în nuștiuce poziție de luptă în față la H&M… Băi, ești nebun? În București?! Văzusem prin Londra chestii din astea, dar aici? “What the fuck?!” urlă unul de pe trotuar, oglindindu-mi gândurile.

O rup la fugă în urma jandarmilor, trecem pe lângă al doilea foc, unde fac un mic ocol ca să dea niște pulane pe spate unora care traversau strada, apoi se unesc cu altă trupă și fac un rând pe toată strada în fața magazinului Unirea. Pornesc spre Tineretului bătând cu pulanele în scuturi. La ieșirea din pasaj îi întimpină pietrele. Niște băieți cu fulare pe față ies de după un bloc și bombardează.

Ei răspund cu două focuri de gaze lacrimogene și câteva artificii care aruncă scântei în toate părțile, feeric, ca la revelion. Deci astea erau bubuiturile, mă gândesc ușurat, dar nu apuc să duc gândul până la capăt că trebuie să mă bag pe după o mașină, să nu mă ia noul val de pietre.

“We are fucking angry!”

Jandarmii se retrag. La o sută de metri de ei, în față la millenium bank, câțiva băieți devastează stația de autobuz. Sparg toate geamurile cu niște lemne groase. Dacă i-ai vedea pe stradă, mai că le-ai cere meditații la matematică. Ochelari, păr frumos pietănat, helănci vintage, haine de ieșit la terasă.

Fugăriții din toate colțurile pieței profită de retragerea jandarmilor și se strâng în intersecția de la mcdonalds. Gonesc cu pietre și ultima mașină de jandarmi, apoi izbucnesc în urale care țin minute-n șir. Arafat! Libertate! Jos nenorociții! Parcă sunt hipnotizați, se plimbă zâmbind, ca la revelion.

Sunt vreo 300 de oameni.Hipsteri, cocalari, roacheri dubioși, lumea pestriță pe care o vezi de obicei pe Lipscani. Ei sunt publicul țintă al companiilor, consumatorii ideali. Doar că acum nu mai consumă, ci distrug. “We are fucking angry!” strigă unul când mulțimea pornește înapoi spre Universitate, adunând provizii de pietre de pe jos.

“Lasă pozele, ia o piatră!”

În mulțime intră și o ceată de squatteri de la clădirile din jur, ofticați că au mâncat bătaie de la jandarmi mergând liniștiți pe-o străduță. I-au văzut că-s țigani… Iar în prima linie sunt mult-huliții ultrași, vreo 10 oameni la prima vedere. Nu i-ai recunoaște după haine, că și eu am geacă neagră și fes pe cap și fularul tras pe nas să mă apăr de lacrimogene. Dar se vede că sunt mai organizați, știu cum se mișcă jandarmii, sunt singurii cu experiența confruntărilor.

La intersecția cu strada Colței dăm peste jandarmi. Tocmai se băteau cu unii și când au văzut mulțimea s-au retras în fața spitalului. Au făcut un cordon lung cât toată strada și ne întâmpină cu două canistre de gaz și niște artificii superbe. Băieții ripostează cu pietre și se apucă să construiască baricade. Gardurile dintre benzile bulevardului se umplu, unul câte unul, cu un ciorchine de flăcăi care le hâțână până când cad, apoi le aruncă în baricade ca într-un baraj de castori.

“Inculții ăștia au pus jandarmii pe noi!”

Cei mai din spate găsesc alte activități recreative. Un tip scrie cu șprei de vopsea neagră o LIBERTATE mare cât toată strada. O fată cu desagă “Hello Kitty” mai are puțin și izbucnește în plâns când îi spune prietenului “Ăsta nu pleacă, mă, orice-am face!” În spatele lor, un tip îmbrăcat elegant, cu o plăsuță în mână, ridică o piatră colțuroasă și o mângâie în pumn, îi cercetează textura, de parcă ar fi un obiect extraterestru. Câțiva băieți discută politică. “Ăștia n-au pic de cultură, mă, inculții ăștia au trimis jandarmii pe noi!” Arată fix ca studenții care au ocupat Facultatea de Istorie cu ceva timp în urmă. Cu toții călcăm pe un covor de flegme, la care contribuim cu sârg de fiecare dată când primim cadou gaze lacrimogene.

E ușor să spui că suporterii sunt de vină, dar protestatarii erau extrem de diverși. Și cei care agitau pancarte, și cei care aruncau pietre. La statuia de la Universitate era un grup de hipioți cu un carton pe care era desenată doar o inimă mare. La Rosetti era un grup de suporteri care spărgeau geamurile unei dacii MAI, iar la zece metri de ei stăteau hipsteri ochelariști anticapitaliști, care opreau mașinile și urlau “Unde mergeți?! Dați-vă jos și protestați!”

Poate au fost cu toții provocați și manipulați. Dar pe străzi plutea furia lor, la fel de reală ca gazele lacrimogene. Furia pe corupți, pe incompetenți, pe sistemul care-și bate joc de ei și-i alungă din țară. Furia asta nu era falsificată. Și oamenii învățau cum să arunce gazul lacrimogen înapoi spre jandarmi cu naturalețea cu care au învățat să joace Farmville.

“Băăi, tâmpiților, lăsați jurnaliștii!”

Înapoi la Colței, situația devine disperată. Protestatarii au rezistat la câteva asalturi, dar acum jandarmii se apropie și din partea cealaltă, dinspre Unirii. “O să ne prindă, bă, la mijloc, ca pe o pizdă!” strigă un tip desfigurat de deznădejde. Totul devine mai brutal. Se sparg panourile publicitare. Stația de autobuz de la Sf. Gheorghe e făcută varză. Cu bâte, cu pietre, cu fiare de pe jos. Unul s-a cățărat pe chioșcul de ziare și smulge o cameră de supraveghere, apoi o zdrobește în urale. Scandările devin mai radicale. “Să-i futem și pe ăștia de la antene, că fac milioane pe spatele nostru!”

Brusc, un tip își dă seama că eu am o cameră în mână și alta pe cap și am filmat absolut tot. Se repede la mine și alții îl urmează. “Bueey, sunt jurnalist!” apuc să strig până să se proptească băieții în pieptul meu, îmbrânceli, unul sare la camera de pe cap, i-o smulg înapoi, îi dau un brânci, fac un salt în spate și apar alți oameni care mă apără – “Băăi, tâmpiților, lăsați jurnaliștii!”

“Să plângă mama? Să plângă mă-ta, băă!”

Le urez an nou fericit salvatorilor și o tulesc pe străduțe, ocolind jandarmii care tocmai înaintau lovind cu pulanele-n scuturi. E momentul perfect pentru o retragere, pentru că de data asta intră bine de tot în ei. Ministrul de Interne a făcut o celulă de criză, se trimit întăriri, trupele SPIR împânzesc centrul.

Vizavi de Cercul Militar, într-un gang de lângă pizza hut, stau ghemuiți pe asfalt zece tineri înconjurați de mascați. Nimeni nu mișcă, parcă-s zece pui congelați. Un mascat urlă la ei agitând pulanul: “În mine arunci cu pietre, mă? Să plângă mama?! Să plângă mă-ta, băă!” Atunci mă vede cu aparatul și se repede cu pulanul la mine. Îi bag în față o legitimație de presă și se mai înmoaie, lasă pulanul mai jos și-mi dă doar un brânci cu bicicletă cu tot.

Gustave Le Bon în acțiune

Ajung într-un bar din centrul vechi, unde s-au strâns mai mulți jurnaliști să discute ce dracu’ s-a întâmplat. La masă cu noi stă și unul dintre cei descriși ca ultrași la TV. “A fost rupere, frate! Gustave Le Bon în acțiune!” Mai ia o gură de bere și adaugă zâmbind: “Oare cât costă reclama la detergent în prime time-ul revoluției?”

La unu jumate noaptea plec spre casă. Bulevardul Brătianu e lună, romprestul lucrează de parcă sunt geloși pe SMURD, abia dacă-ți mai dai seama că s-a întâmplat ceva. Parcă a bătut vântul un pic mai tare.

Curvele sunt la post pe marginea bulevardelor și, trecând pe lângă ele, îmi amintesc amuzat de replica ce m-a scos din multe încurcături în noaptea asta: “Îmi fac doar datoria!”

Îmi fac doar datoria.

.

2011-03-05T15:40:00.000-08:00

.

2011-02-14T03:52:00.000-08:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marvin_Lee_Minsky

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Emotion_Machine

http://web.media.mit.edu/~minsky/E1/eb1.html

http://web.media.mit.edu/~minsky/E2/eb2.html

daci

samani

sambata sonora

bosnia

celine

trotski

regina maria

muslim gauze

paul negoescu

emotii

Ist world war

hippocampus

circuit neuronal

emotional patterns/circuits/emotional habits

iran irak

colonizari

multitasking

profeti

magic quarter second

perform

autobiografical memory

declarative memory

flashbulb memory

amygdala hijack

narcisism- refuz sa cresc

situatie

situational pattern

pattern

flow

experience

creation of meaning

emotional experience

to perform

erving goffman- the presentation of self in everyday life

routine/pattern of actions – part

restored behaviour

being/doing/showing doing

write about yourself- next level- perform yourself

impersonation

cognitive theory

thinking pattern

distorted information processing

explanatory style

learned helplessness

locus of control

congitive restructuration

piaget

gandire magica vs. Gandire pragmatica

parataxic dystortion

denuntari securitate

manele. Sinceritate. Familie

nevoia de afectiune

and then

2010-12-13T14:33:00.000-08:00

... and then winter comes. you get ready to live mostly indoors. gotta arrange the space for that. you have a little home on the 10th floor above bucharest. near the mall. every night you go home, you see this huge pillar with huge blue lit letters: "MEGAfun". today crossing the mall you had small pleasures. watched the mannequins from the mango shop, who all look the same, and thought- these girls are really sexy. it was actually the same face, but different clothes. you found a present for this boy you like. talked at the workshop about stuff in ur life- ur mum and the pigeon she found, lost friends, job. then you came home, made this salad. bought bacon and mushrooms from the shop named "real". while waiting at the cue, noticed the beautiful huge faces hangin on the walls. made judgmental remarks in your head about the next person in line's boots. thought about the moment when you will make pics with everything that's in your room. made this salad. ate it. while crossing the parkway, made judgmental thoughts about a girls' feet. and watched your own feet in the new 300 lei boots. ur mum bought your new boots. in the bus, a young man talking about the gypsy tradition with the girl- that he and his girlfriend must not tell the parents she is not a virgin anymore, cus they'd throw her away and no other gypsy would take her. "a romanian would take them. even if they're not virgins", said his romanian friend. the discussion continued. then home, the salad and probably sex and the city. next morning, clean up the space, the living space. looked at the plates you wash thinkin this can be a good meditation opportunity. you wash the plates and think about the plates you wash. ate eggs bacon and mushrooms. had a small fight with the cat. cleaned the floor. last night you dreamed rj died. then woke up realized it was just a dream. probably talkin yesterday about his accident at the workshop made it come back in your mind. then fell back asleep and dreamt he ressurected. you met, but he said that now that he's back to life he'll not be gay anymore. then we wondered if we can still be such good friends if he's - quote- 'heterosexual". watched "the doom generation" again these days- a heterosexual movie by gregg araki. 15 december. plans for the near future. while washing the plates i was asking myself what would the definition of "theatrical" be. then plans for funding. then plans. think about the peter pan monologue. will you ever finish it. probably until june. wash your clothes. think about your hair which has a natural rasta tangled portion. eat little toblerone chocolates. outside's snowing. you won't be able to wear the new boots so much now. check rj's profile to make sure it's not like in the dream, where there was this huge black band on the fb profile, written- we are sorry to inform you that your friend died. you buy plasticine from "real"- wonder if this is a sign of inner peace, or just a sign of winter coming- this will generate little coloured animals who will then fill the living space. think about the text ur writing- the one with the education. gotta give it more time. think about time, while washing the plates. listen to melancholic music, like marianne faithfull but especially diamanda galas

vaslui theatre festival, october 2010

2010-11-04T08:11:00.000-07:00

Ich Clown @ Festivalul Umorului "C-tin Tanase", Vaslui from veioza arte on Vimeo.

9 sept city

2010-09-09T10:12:00.000-07:00

9th of september and i say leave a trace of your thoughts write i was in the bus 2 days ago thinking about a memory and then said to myself i should write this until i forget it until it starts decomposing in my mind but i didnt even believe myself when thinkin that. the memory became just a frame that got stuck into my mind making me think, as so many times recently, that love and affection are a form of illness. a form of being stuck like an animal in a trap. your helpless look. your random moves, trying to escape it. your dreamy eyes when you think of something that is not here with pain and desire.

one of the first days in bucharest today. walked a lot. sometimes feels like a battle field. it s grey and violent and intense. poisoned. gas and noise. loads of noise. the main street, magheru, feels so heavy. very hard to handle. when you walk through it, you have to shout, the sound of the cars is too strong. and there s fogg, things look misty cus of the pollution. a walk through magheru and you need a retreat. streets are underconstruction everywhere. you hear the sound of machines breaking cement, and this is mixed with the sound of cars and claxons, and alarms. people s faces are dark brown and frowned. some of them seem lost. there was an old lady from the countryside near nottara theatre, the kind of very skinny old ladies with black clothes and a black scarf (basma?) on her head. she looked at me grabbed my hand and shouted ”where are we?”. ”we are near piața romana”, i shouted back. ”i want to go down the hill to universitate” she shouted. i pointed the direction. ”just keep on walking!! keep on walking in that direction and you will see it!!” she seemed frightened. i had to give her a little push in that direction. ”i will go down there and i will see it, right?” said she, already moving. ”right.” and i waved my hand. she looked as confused as in the beginning and then she dissapeared in the crowd.
i sort of like this intense heavy feeling. i breath in and feel the dust gas ans smell of sweat. feel dizzy. gives you quite a high. can t compare it with other drugs. feels stronger and better than the dreamy hippie amsterdam. maybe also because i m not a hippie anymore. i don t wanna feel The Love anymore.

discovered a beautiful artist 2day, her name is yașam șașmazer. she is from turkey and she makes these weird wooden painted sculptures, child-size children like these

(this is called ”beautiful as my mother”)

(this is called ”strong as my father”)

(”bloody fruit”)

source

also discovered a beautiful artist at the ADM festival in Amsterdam some days ago. his name is yann keller and his music fits bucharest so well. he built this instrument called the steelbass. and makes sound installations like this
- and this sound is bucharest

the cold song

2010-08-12T12:39:00.000-07:00

i don't know if there's any connection btween this

and jmbarrie's melancholic figure and peter pan standing still and me as peter pan and the women in the red light district but i keep on listening to this song on and on and on for a week now, and it sort of gives me the frame for the things i experience and they have a very sharp cold-lit shape through this frame.

wanna be

2010-08-04T07:29:00.000-07:00

emotional trouble. this fucked up romantic utopia that makes us see only the nice stuff. if i could find a way to get rid of that sweet flavoured perception of reality, my oh my, that would be JUUUST precious. seein somebody and not seeing just the best in him, but him/her as a whole. no judgement. i guess not attaching judgemental opinions would be the best start for that. there's no good or bad, it is as it is. not what i want to see in it. not what can please my purring ego that transforms everything into a disgusting jelly disney movie .

haha - i want to be evil- listened to her recently wth 2 occasionally friends. peckham wine till 9 in the morning and watchin

oh of course the sweetest tenderest of them all miss

ich clown

2010-07-14T02:07:00.000-07:00

Ich CLown - premiera from veioza arte on Vimeo.

- what we have been workin on until now. a play about ourselves, and the beginnging of the programme "write about yourself", which hopefully will encourage people to write about/share their own stories, and break the common belief that "my life's not worth it" when it comes to writing about you. twas the most kamikadze project i've worked on, but it's out there now. and that's good.

http://ichclown.wordpress.com/

back

2010-07-14T01:31:00.000-07:00

almost thought i'll never write here again. my brain is still more than half empy after the last 2 months' experience, and now slowly coming to life, bit by bit, pixel by pixel. try to remember parts of the things that happened in order to free some space in my brain cells. in london again. now. after the opening of our performance, which was good but also the most nerve-consuming experience i've been through until now. yes, doing an independent theatre production in bucharest has all the chances to basically leave you in a vegetable condition. right now, selling baloons on the streets of london. yesterday i saw a guy next to me who was literally plucking his hair out while singing a song into a street plastic sign (the orange-and white ones, that look like the VLC icon). he was singing "wonderwall" into that. had black dirty hands and dirty nails, seemed homeless, and had just some remains of hair on the top of his head, which he was plucking every 30 seconds, and then throwing them. he had a bag in front of him and people were throwing money. twas the most disturbing image i've seen in a while. i'll try to take more pictures starting today, in my baloon walks.
decided to come back here for a phd in a couple of years- probably 3. trying to figure out the research theme until then.

remember

2010-05-07T11:02:00.000-07:00

some of the last moments of this week listening to this song bright tomorrow

i treat you nice

2010-05-05T15:35:00.000-07:00

feel i've been going through a tunnel since i came back. like in those video games, always ready for an enemy to attack. decided to put notes and thoughts together, to see the bigger picture. i'm wondering almost every day about what am i doing, what am i building here - coz many times it feels that you're going on moving sand, and this is the most absurd thing of all. i'm losing so many time to run after all those important people that could make our project work (but they have no real interest for projects though, they're just a bunch of mobsters), that i feel that here everything is set up to stop people from work. i could use that time in so many interesting ways, but still i have to be prepared to show up in front of all those greasy theater-owners, anytime they please to, just because they are the only ones. i hate this old school theater system with all my heart and soul. they don't give a shit about theater, about the people they are workin with , they have no passion for other things than keep their chair warm. there would be many things to write about.it's may, i've been here for 6 months now. or 7. there would be so many things so interesting for this blog, also because when i look at my older posts i see that when i was in london, i had the time and the comfort to write about things i discover, or things i think about. here, it's always like a survival trip, there's no quiet moment to even think about what you are thinkin about. it's also strange, that when in other place, you have the curiosity to discover, all your senses are oriented towards outside, here all your senses are oriented towards inside, sort of trying to protect yourself from the outside world.

yesterday, one of those theater managers invited me to take a sit on his lap, and tell him about the project we're workin at. of course, he said it as a joke. also, i think he pronounced the words "i treat you nice", meaning us, the young kids who came to propose him a project. it's confusing, and it's also confusing that people here seem to take it as "his jokey way", which is totally fucked up. there is no way in the whole universe that somebody you go to talk about a project can invite you to sit on his lap, not even as a joke. it's just fucked up. but he acts like this because he knows you need him. and because he has no fuckin notion of respect. and you go again and again to ask him if he read your text. wtf. duude. wtf. it's just WRONG. the only thing i should be bothered with is my work. and you don't do it with a snap of fingers. you need time, and energy. and focus. and food. i have this sort of vision, since i came back, looking around- that the people around me, me included, we've been so humiliated, our mothers have been humiliated, our grandparents have been humiliated, that the only good thing that could happen now as a burst of this continuous pain, would be a writing outburst, people writing and writing and giving voice to their feelings, and stories, and disappointment, hundreds of stories. to write is the easiest tool, you don't need to rent a space for it, you don't need props, and stuff you can't afford. we also don't trust people. but we could trust ourselves to be honest, each person in it's own autistic way, and then in the end we can discover the things that we really have in common. at least we would get to know ourselves. there's no notion of solidarity here, of any kind. the strongest communities are the ones in villages or in gypsy communities. in the rest of the country, people either create very closed groups (the family- usually mother father grandparents children and maybe some close cousins), protecting themselves against all the others, or just live in a no-harm pact with all the people around (that is if you don't form a family group) sort of a cold war understanding, you don't mess with me and i won't mess with you.

for some strange reason i've been watching america's next top model again in the last few weeks. i can't get those girls out of my mind, and tyra banks, and the competition rules, and the rewards, and the love and hate relationship those girls have while living together. their beauty standards. the political correctness of having one plus-size model in each cycle, or sometimes one lesbian. anyways. i fell asleep, just woke up now. will keep posting, i guess.

2010-03-07T01:35:00.000-08:00

sunday morning. inhabit ur own life, space, actions, depressions, joys. everyplace you are in has a reason. pretending it doesn't happen is just stupid.

depression repression

2010-02-20T17:32:00.000-08:00

i was wondering these days about the topic of education in ro. it seems incredible how a country can treat the young people so badly, trying to kill any curiosity and teach them that the lesson in life is compromise and submission. before my london experience i was sort of sure that it's the same everywhere, same like here i mean- if you are young, nobody will listen to you, nobody will give you credit, people will just try to fuck any kind of passion, creativity, curiosity creating a system based on power and fear and constant need to "proove" that you deserve to be in that place. in that school. university. institution. and i mean- isn't it kind of stupid like totally stupid to think like that- you as the one who is part of politics and you have to decide things- to fuck the youth of a country it means that you will have a country of emotionally crippled adults. wtf?

i was also thinking to write something about disappointment. it's one of those kind of thoughts that come to you as a very sparkling idea at some point- i should write something about disappointment. seems like the perfect thing to write about, it's so present that it cries at you to write about it. bucharest is one of the places where the word just comes out from everywhere. you experience it. you see it all around you. people are so used to it that they kind of wait for it- they expect to be disappointed and so when they are not, it's strange and it creates suspicion. and it leads in a way or another to a final disappointment. sometimes it's you the one that fucks it up, because you are just not used with things going well.

it's strange. anyways. i ate a glorious food today so i will write about it too- it's some senegal popular food with carrots, peanut butter, ginger, garlic, onion and god knows what, i'll ask the friend who made it and edit the recipe later. i never understood people who were "passionate with cooking". i always thought that at some point it's a huge waste of time. i also felt that i couldn't empathize with the idea of enjoying some "nice food". but in the last few months, this eating and the whole culture of it dimension just opened new gates. i find it a weird and fascinating process of how people create all these things just to eat them. and the rituals around it, the way eating can change your personality. like indians eat with their hands, and it's very sexy and more personal to eat just with your hands.

so... disappointment. when i came back here i was sort of warned that the depression will not happen in the first month, but only after 5-6. here we are, 5 months. she came and sometimes is still here, reachable. just sittin there, somewhere. if you need her, she'll just pop up. otherwise she'll leave you alone. she's a good girl. and the combination with the winter is makin it just perfect. and because you were disappointed last time, you will have higher expectations next time, because of all the frustrations gathered with the older disappointments. you will want revenge. you will want to show them.

it's interesting to see how your brain works in different contexts.

all these things i do

2010-02-04T02:48:00.000-08:00

so we go to this smokey place and start talkin the beer as bubbly as always and people the same as always there's something stinky in the air and he says- ok so why do you do all these things? what? i say. what you do, he says. like all these things. theatre, writing and all these things. i think about it and say- i guess after all kinds of searches i found this as my way the best way i can express myself. my form of expression. this is what i do, this is who i am. and he thinks for a bit and says- there's something rotten about all these things with theatre and these exercises you are tellin me about. your answer doesn't satisfy me. i'm like- i suddenly feel like a freak. so i try to explain one more time- it is the best way through which i can express myself. it is my language of communication with the world. wtf. this is my tool. my job.what i do. still not satisfying. and he is- i still don't understand WHY. why do you do all these things. what do you mean to express yourself.
thou shalt not make anymore compromises i say to myself thou shalt not try to explain if people don't get it from the first instant. thou shalt not waste your time in vain. thou shalt not have patience anymore. thou shalt not NOT make the compromise to go out and meet wth whoever when actually you wanted to look at your videos and make an edit.

.

2010-02-03T08:45:00.000-08:00

one thousand billion zillion thoughts hittin their head against eachother i ate some ciorba with peppers and i think: be grateful for the affection you receive. cut the rotten branches. here, you see, there's plenty of space for so many thoughts. here in this city. your brain can generate a huge quantity of shit if it is not challenged. take it easy, i say, take it slow. always be greatful every single morning when you get up of ur bed and walk to your brand new white desk. winter's almost over and then spring will come. hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of thoughts jumping and bitin eachother's neck, i might as well leave the room and have a beer.

ladies and gentlemen eugene buica

2010-01-15T00:12:00.000-08:00

the peculiar sensation that a big blue guy wants to kiss ur ass

2010-01-08T00:41:00.000-08:00

8 jan, morning. cat sexually charged. begs for smth no human race could give her.

avtar 3d last night. i don't know if it has any connection but after that i dreamt that i was supposed to have a drink wth Marilyn Manson. maybe i wanted some other effects than the jolly medusas. what pisses me off bout movies like avatar is that they cultivate this escapism, this phantasy that if you were bigger and blue-er your life would be so much interesting riding those flying creatures and gettin in touch with the sacred spirit of the forest. all beautiful, but if after watching the movie you leave thinking oh my life here on earth is so not interesting, and my human body is so not interesting, i wish i lived on pandora- i think this does you harm. of course you could take good things out of it, james cameron was aware of the eco trend and of the anti-colonialist trend as well. but with a budget of $200 million dollars and even more for marketing, i think there were far more interesting things to be done here on earth. and look- i just google pandora and the first article i find says- "The scenes were so startling and absorbing that the following morning, I had the peculiar sensation of wanting to return there, as if Pandora were real.".

so i didn't fall under the spell, didn't dream of pandora but of marilyn manson. lucky me.

"Hate today

No love for tomorrow

We're all stars now in the dope show

There's lots of pretty, pretty ones

Who want to get you high

But all the pretty, pretty ones

Will leave you low

And blow your mind"

(marilyn manson- dope show)

.

2010-01-02T02:09:00.000-08:00

few days ago a neighbor of mine tells me that he went to london for winter holidays with his family. did you like london? i ask. "what can i say, miss... we are the last people on the face of the earth". this is one brilliant example of the romanian self-hate and self-pity at the same time. you see a city you like and you immediately think you are the last people on the face of the earth.

locul potrivit.la multi ani.

2009-12-31T01:34:00.000-08:00

.

2009-12-31T00:31:00.000-08:00

never thought of the taxi drivers as the ones who know shit about what's goin on in the city, but i guess this perspective is also possible. a friend told me that they also have deals with the police, notice the houses that call too many cabs too many times a day and sometimes they give information bout those people- who comes, who goes and so and so. also because they have their own areas, and they are constantly there, constantly seeing shit, and then selling information.

Pedagogy of the oppressed- chapter one part two, excerpts

2009-12-26T09:40:00.000-08:00

Perhaps the most influential thinker about education in the late twentieth century, Paulo Freire has been particularly popular with informal educators with his emphasis on dialogue and his concern for the oppressed.

Paulo Freire (1921 - 1997), the Brazilian educationalist, has left a significant mark on thinking about progressive practice. His Pedagogy of the Oppressed is currently one of the most quoted educational texts (especially in Latin America, Africa and Asia). Freire was able to draw upon, and weave together, a number of strands of thinking about educational practice and liberation. Sometimes some rather excessive claims are made for his work e.g. 'the most significant educational thinker of the twentieth century'. He wasn't - John Dewey would probably take that honour - but Freire certainly made a number of important theoretical innovations that have had a considerable impact on the development of educational practice - and on informal education and popular education in particular. (viahttp://www.infed.org/thinkers/et-freir.htm)

PEDAGOGY OF THE OPPRESSED
(translated by Myra Bergman Ramos - )

Chapter one, part two, excerpts

Any situation in which A objectively exploits B of hinders his and her pursuit of self-affirmation as a responsible person is one of oppression. Such a situation in itself constitutes violence, even when sweetened by false generosity, because it interferes with the individual’s ontological and historical vocation to become more fully human. With the establishment of a relationship of oppression, violence has already begun.

Violence is initiated by those who oppress, who exploit, who fail to recognize others as persons- not by those who are oppressed, exploited and unrecognized. It is not the unloved who initiate disaffection, but those who cannot love because they love only themselves.

For the oppressors, “human beings” refers only to themselves; other people are “things”. For the oppressors, there exists only one right: their right to live in peace, over against the right, not always even recognized, but simply conceded, of the oppressed to survival. And they make this concession only because the existence of the oppressed is necessary to their own existence.

This behavior, this way of understanding the world and people is explained by their existence as a dominant class. Once a situation of violence and oppression has been established, it engenders an entire way of life and behavior for those caught up in it- oppressors and oppressed alike. Both are submerged in this situation, and both bear the marks of oppression.

The oppressor consciousness tends to transform everything surrounding it into n object of its domination. The earth, property, production, the creations of people, people themselves, time- everything is reduced to the status of objects at its disposal.

In their unrestrained eagerness to possess, the oppressors develop the conviction that it is possible for them to transform everything into objects of their purchasing power; hence their strictly materialistic conception of existence. Money is the measure of all things, and profit the primary goal. For the oppressors, what is worthwhile is to have more- always more- even t the cost of the oppressed having less or having nothing. For them, to be is to have and to be the class of the “haves”.

The oppressors do not perceive the monopoly on having more as a privilege which dehumanizes others and themselves. They cannot see that, in the egoistic pursuit of having as a possessing class, they suffocate in their own possessions and no longer are; they merely have. For them, having more is an inalienable right, a right they acquired through their own “effort”, with their “courage to take risks.” If others do not have more, it is because they are incompetent and lazy, and worst of all is their unjustifiable ingratitude towards the “generous gestures” of the dominant class. Precisely because they are “ungrateful” and “envious”, the oppressed are regarded as potential enemies who must be watched.

If the humanization of the oppressed signifies subversion, so also does their freedom; hence the necessity for constant control. And the more the oppressors control the oppressed, the more they change them into apparently inanimate “things”. This tendency of the oppressor consciousness to in-animate everything and everyone it encounters, in its eagerness to possess, unquestionably corresponds with a tendency to sadism.

“The pleasure in complete domination over another person (or other animate creature) is the very essence of the sadistic drive. Another way of formulating the same thought is to say that the aim of sadism is to transform a man into a thing, something animate into something inanimate, since by complete and absolute control the living loses one essential quality of life- freedom.” (Erich Fromm, “The heart of Man”, New York 1966)

Sadistic love is a perverted love- a love of death, not of life. One of the characteristics of the oppressor consciousness and its necrophilic view of the world is thus sadism. As the oppressor consciousness, in order to dominate tries to deter the drive to search, the restlessness and the creative power which characterize life, it kills life.

Given the preceding context, another issue of indubitable importance arises: the fact that certain members of the oppressor class join the oppressed in their struggle for liberation, thus moving from one pole of the contradiction to another. It happens, however, that as they cease to be exploiters or indifferent spectators or simply the heirs of exploitation and move to the side of the exploited, they almost always bring with them the marks of their origin: their prejudices and their deformations, which include a lack of confidence in the people’s ability to think, to want and to know. Accordingly, these adherents to the people’s cause constantly run the risk of falling onto a type of generosity as malefic as that of the oppressors. The generosity of the oppressors is nourished by an unjust order, which must be maintained in order to justify that generosity. Our converts on the other hand, truly desire to transform the unjust order; but because of their background they believe that they must be the executors of the transformation. They talk about the people, but they do not trust them; and trusting the people is indispensable precondition for revolutionary change. A real humanist can be identified more by his trust in the people, which engages him in their struggle, than by a thousand actions in their favor without that trust.

Those who authentically commit themselves to the people must re-examine themselves constantly. This conversion is so radical s not to allow of ambiguous behavior. To affirm this conversion but to consider oneself the proprietor of revolutionary wisdom – which must then be given to (or imposed on ) the people- is to retain the old ways. The convert who approaches the people but feels alarm at each step they take, each doubt they express and each suggestion they offer, and attempts to impose his “status”, remains nostalgic towards his origins.

The peasant begins to get courage to overcome his dependence when he realizes that he is dependent. Until then, he goes along with the boss and says “What can I do? I’m only a peasant.”
When superficially analyzed, this fatalism is sometimes interpreted as a docility that is a trait of national character. Fatalism in the guise of docility is the fruit of an historical and sociological situation, not an essential characteristic of a people’s behavior. It almost always is related to the power of destiny or fate or fortune – inevitable forces – or to a distorted view of God.
Submerged in reality, the oppressed cannot perceive clearly the “order” which serves the interests of the oppressor whose image they have internalized. Chafing under the restrictions of this order, they often manifest a type of horizontal violence, striking out at their own comrades for the pettiest reasons.

“The colonized man will first manifest this aggressiveness which has been deposited in his bones gainst his own people. This is the period when the niggers beat each other up, and the police and magistrates do not know which way to turn when faced with the astonishing waves of crime in North Africa ” (Frantz Fanon- “The wretched of the earth”, New York, 1968)

It is possible that in this behavior they are once more manifesting their duality. Because the oppressor exists within their oppressed comrades, when they attack their comrades they are indirectly ttacking the oppressor as well.

On the other hand, at a certain point in their existential experience the oppressed feel an irresistible attraction towards the oppressors and their way of life. Sharing this way of life becomes an overpowering aspiration. In their alienation, the oppressed want at any cost to resemble the oppressors, to imitate them to follow them. This phenomenon is especially prevalent in the middle-class oppressed, who yearn to be equal to the “eminent” men and women of the upper class.

Self- depreciation is another characteristic of the oppressed, which derives from their internalization of the opinion the oppressors hold of them. So often do they hear that they are good for nothing, know nothing and are incapable of learning anything- that they are sick, lazy and unproductive – that in the end they become convinced of their own unfitness.
They call themselves ignorant and say the “professor” is the one who has knowledge and to whom they should listen.

Almost never do they realize that they too “know things” they have learned in their relations with the world and with other women and men. Given the circumstances which have produced their duality, it is only natural to distrust themselves.

They have a diffuse, magical belief in the invulnerability and power of the oppressor. This total emotional dependence can lead the oppressed to what Fromm calls necrophilic behavior: the destruction of life- their own or that of their oppressed fellows.

It is only when the oppressed find the oppressor out and become involved in the organized struggle for their liberation that they begin to believe in themselves. This discovery cannot be purely intellectual but must involve action; nor can it be limited to mere activism, but must include serious reflection; only then will it be a praxis.

Pedagogy of the oppressed- introduction and chapter one part one, excerpts

2009-12-25T06:14:00.000-08:00

Perhaps the most influential thinker about education in the late twentieth century, Paulo Freire has been particularly popular with informal educators with his emphasis on dialogue and his concern for the oppressed.

Paulo Freire (1921 - 1997), the Brazilian educationalist, has left a significant mark on thinking about progressive practice. His Pedagogy of the Oppressed is currently one of the most quoted educational texts (especially in Latin America, Africa and Asia). Freire was able to draw upon, and weave together, a number of strands of thinking about educational practice and liberation. Sometimes some rather excessive claims are made for his work e.g. 'the most significant educational thinker of the twentieth century'. He wasn't - John Dewey would probably take that honour - but Freire certainly made a number of important theoretical innovations that have had a considerable impact on the development of educational practice - and on informal education and popular education in particular. In this piece we assess these - and briefly examine some of the critiques that can be made of his work. (via http://www.infed.org/thinkers/et-freir.htm)

PEDAGOGY OF THE OPPRESSED

(translated by Myra Bergman Ramos - )

Intro, excerpts

Fear of freedom, of which its possessor is not necessarily aware, makes him see ghosts.

Men and women rarely admit their fear of freedom openly, however, tending rather to camouflage it – sometimes unconsciously- by presenting themselves as defenders of freedom. They give their doubts nd misgivings an air of profound sobriety, as befitting custodians of freedom. But they confuse freedom with the maintenance of the status quo.

These pages, which introduce the “pedagogy of the oppressed”, result from my observations during 6 years of political exile, observations which have enriched those previously afforded by my educational activities in Brazil.

Chapter one, excerpts

Concern for humanization leads at once to the recognition of dehumanization, not only as an ontological possibility, but s an historical reality. And as an individual perceives the extent of dehumanization, he or she may ask if humanization is a viable possibility. Within history, in concrete, objective contexts, both humanization and dehumanization are possibilities for a person as an uncompleted being conscious of their incompletion.

But while both humanization and dehumanization are real alternatives, only the first is the people’s vocation. This vocation is constantly negated, yet it is affirmed but that very negation.

Dehumanization, which marks not only those whose humanity has been stolen, but also (though in a different way) those who have stolen it, is a distortion of the vocation of becoming more fully human. This distortion occurs within history; but it is not a historical vocation. Indeed, to admit of dehumanization as an historical vocation would lead either to cynicism or total despair. The struggle for humanization, for the emancipation of labor, for the overcoming of alienation, for the affirmation of men and women as persons would be meaningless. This struggle is possible only because dehumanization, although a concrete historical fact, is not a given destiny but the result of an unjust order that engenders violence in the oppressors, which in turn dehumanizes the oppressed.

Because it is a distortion of being more fully human, sooner or later being less human leads the oppressed to struggle against those who made them so. In order for this struggle to have meaning, the oppressed must not, in seeking to regain their humanity, (which is a way to create it), become in turn oppressors of the oppressors, which in turn dehumanizes the oppressed.

The oppressors, who oppress, exploit and rape by the virtue of their power, cannot find in this power the strength to liberate either the oppressed or themselves.

Any attempt to “soften” the power of the oppressor in deference to the weakness of the oppressed almost always manifests itself in the form of false generosity.

True generosity consists precisely in fighting to destroy the causes which nourish false charity.

This lesson and this apprenticeship must come, however, from the oppressed themselves and from those who are truly solidary with them. They will not gain this liberation by chance, but through the praxis of their quest for it, through their recognition of their necessity to fight for it. And this fight, because of the purpose given it by the oppressed, will actually constitute an act of love opposing the lovelessness which lies at the heart of the oppressors’ violence, lovelessness even when clothed in false generosity.

The fear of freedom, which afflicts the oppressed, a fear which may equally well lead them to desire the role of oppressor or bind them to the role of oppressed, should be examined. One of the basic elements of the relationship between oppressor and oppressed is prescription. Every prescription represents the imposition of one individual’s choice upon another, transforming the consciousness of the person prescribed to into one that conforms with the prescriber’s consciousness. Thus, the behavior of the oppressed is a prescribed behavior, following as it does the guidelines of the oppressor.

The oppressed, having internalized the image of the oppressor and adopted his guidelines are fearful of freedom. Freedom would require them to eject this image and replace it with autonomy and responsibility. Freedom is acquired by conquest, not by gift. It must be pursued constantly and responsibly. Freedom is not an ideal located outside of man; nor is it an idea which becomes myth. It is rather the indispensable condition for the quest for human completion.

However, the oppressed, who have adapted to the structure of domination in which they are immersed, and have become resigned to it, are inhibited from waging the struggle for freedom so long as they feel incapable of running the risks it requires. Moreover, their struggle for freedom threatens not only the oppressor, but also their own oppressed comrades who are fearful of still greater repression. When they discover within themselves the yearning to be free, they perceive that this yearning can be transformed into reality only when the same yearning is aroused in their comrades. But while dominated by the fear of freedom they refuse to appeal to others, or to listen to the appeal of others, or even to the appeals of their own conscience. They prefer gregariousness to authentic comradeship; they prefer the security of conformity with their state of unfreedom to the creative communion produced by freedom and even the very pursuit of freedom.

The oppressed suffer from the duality which has established itself in their innermost being. They discover that without freedom they cannot exist authentically. Yet, although they desire authentic existence, they fear it. They are the at one and the same time themselves and the oppressor whose consciousness they have internalized. The conflict lies in the choice between being wholly themselves or being divided; between ejecting the oppressor within or not ejecting them; between human solidarity or alienation; between following prescriptions or having choices; between being spectators or actors; between acting or having the illusion of acting through the action of the oppressors; between speaking out or being silent, castrated in their power to create and re-create, in their power to transform the world.

This book will present some aspects of what the writer has termed the pedagogy of the oppressed, a pedagogy which must be forged with, not for the oppressed (whether individuals or peoples ) in the incessant struggle to regain their humanity.

The central problem is this: how can the oppressed, as divided, unauthentic beings, participate in the developing of their liberation? The pedagogy of the oppressed is an instrument for their critical discovery that both they and their oppressors are manifestations of dehumanization.

Liberation is thus a childbirth, and a painful one. The man or woman who emerges is a new person, viable only as the oppressor-oppressed contradiction is superseded by the humanization of all people. Or to put it another way, the solution of this contradiction is born in the lbor which brings into the world this new being: no longer oppressor, no longer oppressed, but human in the process of achieving freedom.

This solution cannot be achieved in idealistic terms. In order for the oppressed to be able to wage the struggle for their liberation, they must perceive the reality of oppression not as a closed world from which there is no exit, but as a limited situation which they can transform.

Christmas, workshops and teachers’ dicks

2009-12-24T05:30:00.000-08:00

24th. Got back on the 8th with the whole 15 extra-kilos adventure.

Then had the first ‘what you see and what you hear ’ workshop meeting, last Sunday, on the 13th. Great exercise, and also very interesting to see peoples’ different realities and flashes of life. As kostea told me- and I also was thinkin bout that intuitively, the focus is not on the extraordinary, not on the unusual/ this-would-make-a-good-movie things, but on unfolding and looking at our lives and what are they made of. And another interesting thing- smth that andra said- that at first when thinkin about what was she doing last week, the first thought was: “nothing”. The good old “ce ai mai facut?” “nimic”/”chiar nimic”/”bai, nimic” that I encounter so frequently here. and also, related to what graham said when I told him bout this workshop- it is an alternative to the main media sources of news- the media news that are always, but always, hysterical – whether if it’s good news of bad news, it’s always smth that has to be hysterical- a catastrophe, or a over-enthusiastically attitude towards smth that happened. Shet. And that keeps u constantly over-excited, not bein aware of the things in your life, the actual specific things you have around you, because “they don’t matter”. it’s always something else that matters, and that is not here, but somewhere far away, keepin you miserable, frustrated and helpless.

So that was the workshop, first taster session.

Last week- from Wednesday to Sunday, Eugene Buica’s workshop, acting and personal obstacles. One of the great exercises we did was a media deprivation one- which means that for 5 days we didn’t consume/connect with any of the media sources/products/anything that was released to be consumed by the public. No books, no music, no movies, no internet. Shet. Just sit and look at your ghosts. It is a bit troubling, but also makes you realize how easy it is to run away from your own thoughts, the most uncomfortable ones, by listening to your favorite music/watchin a movie/doing some internet surfing, as always. Great great focus and connection to the present, which is smth that constantly appears in my life lately (because I am interested in it?). Learning how to look at and listen to the person in front of you, and how to let him/her see you as well. How to change and to let yourself be changed by your partner. And another great thing, hallelujah, about the performance and the performer as the person who is telling a story, and not as the one who tries to live profound and divine emotions on stage in order to make the audience also feel emotion and all that. Just tell the fuckin story. Eugene link . He has a great attention and works so beautiful that you wish it wouldn’t end.

In the countryside now. I decided to post fragments of “pedagogy of the oppressed” while I re-read it, as I took it with me, together with the watchmen book. Coz people don’t know it and it makes me wanna share it even from the introduction to the introduction where a guy named richrd shaull resumes it. Strange this impulse you have when there’s something that you like so much, that you wanna share it, it’s impossible to experience it alone.

Also workin on a post about tiina’s collaborative work with her hairdresser and her optician.
Had a very interesting discussion with Eugene about the relationship between teachers and students here. He seemed really amazed when we told him that many young students fuck their teachers here/or wouldn’t hesitate if necessary, because they are desperate and they want to make it in life, and many teachers take advantage of their position and try to teach the young students what’s the deal in the arts business, meaning that sometimes, why not, you have to suck a dick or 2. The thing that made me think was actually that Eugene’s genuine amazement made me realize that our attitude towards this was also sort of – “these things happen”, sort of tolerating something that shouldn’t be tolerated in any way.

I am also amazed when I hear that a role model like ion besoiu asks young girls ce parare au despre pula, or that a role model and a teacher like puiu serban puts his hands all over the young students’ body tellin them that’s the deal in showbiz. But what makes me even more amazed is that these young girls are so blocked of fear and shame that they don’t even react, they just let it happen because that’s how things are. When the truth is that this is nothing else but rape, psychological and sometimes even physical rape. And people go to prison for that.

This talk sort of made us realize that the parable with the elephant cub is quite true - when the elephant is just a baby, they tie him with a rope to the tree. And when the elephant grows up and is taller than the tree, it still doesn’t move away from the tree even if it could pluck it out in no time.

the orange bathrobe, morning and more

2009-12-10T21:52:00.000-08:00

able to wake up again at 7 o'clock in the morning, watching how the mall appears through the mornin fogg. and those lyrics- "the cars hiss by my window" and then something with waves. like the waves down on the beach. found an old poster with jim morrison 2 days ago, put it in the bathroom.

back from london. luton and wizzair experience. i am now officially the most skillfull illegal traveler ever. managed to get 15 extra kilos hidden in a bag under my huge eastern european jacket. had all my notebooks, books, laptop, camera in it. my "official" luggage, which had to be 10 kilos, was in a nice and small backpack. 9,4. so basically i had a 10 kilos handbag, and a 15 kilos hidden purse.

will have the first workshop session on sunday, at school. what you saw and what you heard this week.

this week, last week. london was beautiful and felt like home. bucharest feels like home as well. i guess i have 2 homes now.

what else- notes from my notebook, like stuff that i should not forget to write on my blog about-

"2 pounds in the bus with javi"- that is, i was in the bus wth javi, just bought stuff for the party on saturday, arms full of stuff, and javi's oyster beeps red. she gets a 10 pounds note to pay cash, the driver says i got no chnge, but wait until the next stop and i'll give you the change, we say ok, and then a guy from the bus gets 2 pounds out of his pocket and says- here, i got 2 pounds, and pays for javi's ticket. not flirty in any kind, not drunk, not on drugs. we say thanks, he says- "it's alright" and moves towards the back of the bus, to take a seat. end of story.

"the clown-woman with a phd in walking and her inflatable couch"- that is Hilary Ramsden, who is just completing her phd in wlking and storytelling.

"the empty room. "i have empty rooms everywhere i live coz i'm always ready to leave to another place. i've been living in my last room for couple of years." his room was empty. he had magazine about boxing on the floor, a book about joy division and a book about tennis and a book about dylan. said he always wanted to be an actor but never performed. he was about 35. owned a bar and almost never used internet. m from scotland."

at luton, waiting for the gate, fell asleep next to a group of gypsies. 2 young girls, an old lady and a young man. one of the girls had a beautiful orange bathrobe on her. she was basiclly travelling dressed in a bathrobe, a bright orange one. with a white playboy bunny on her back. they were funny. when we went to the gate, the blonde blue eyed lady shouted at them "open your pssports!!" and then still angry for some reason, told the young guy- "can you please stop popping gum in my face?that is rude." i wanted to tell her that she is rude, but i couldn't be bothered. she was just a blonde bitch.

what u see and what u hear

2009-12-02T02:14:00.000-08:00

a show in which there's a black box. you enter. there's somebody in the box together with you. you can't see him, but you hear him and you feel his presence. he asks: what kind of song dyou want?a happy one, a sad one? you choose. he sings it for you, but you don't see him at all. just hear and feel his presence.

7 o'clock in the morning, in the tube, people walk slowly, shoulder to shoulder. ragi was in the subway, everything was packed. a guy was reading the newspaper. he was tall, and kept the newspaper on ragi's head.somewhere in the back, a woman threw up. nobody could move or turn around to see her, they just felt the smell.

a man was feeding 7 squirrels.

tiina brought me toys:

dreaming and dying in teleorman, early and late edits

2009-11-20T23:08:00.000-08:00

21 november early in the morning
a new day in front of me, a new day
to watch my grandmother dying or waiting to, a new day
to think about why people here want to correct your thinking
people see me as a utopic a bit childish dreamer who wonders
why are there wars and killings in the world (that's one branch)
or as a confused but still-to-be-taught intellectual
mesmerized by the european colored fantasy with gay people
and colored people (that's another branch)
they make me sad because i realize they have nothing to do with me
although i like them and sometimes they are my family
last night i dreamed i went to the seaside and the sea was made of snow
and ice
the snow was melting and the air was spring-ish and
there were thousands of people on the shore looking at the snow that is melting
couples holding hands, old people, young people
nobody was speaking, and even dan spataru was there.
then i saw that on the sandy part of the shore there are loads of people on camels
so many camels around me, camels taller than usual camels
hurrying somewhere in front of me, some of them werer making little dances
running around in circles, some of them were tiny some of them huge
it was a camel contest or smth
and the snow was melting, it melted it became water and i could
walk through it and when i returned a lady on a camel was sayin
that camels are just like little babies, it is incredible how childish they are.
so i wake up to a new day, change my clothes, get ready
it's really sunny outside
i hope today i won't hear that my thinking is wrong but who knows
keep it low do your shit and that's about it

[later edit]

then i go to grandma round 9 o'clock she just woke up
she says man, i walk around all night long every night [oleeee, da ce ma plimb toata noaptea]
i say in your dream? she says yea. what did you dream of? i say. grapes. she says.
and more? walkin through meadows. all night long i walk trough meadows, meadows, all night long just meadows
and meadows. [pe poieni, pe poieni. toata noaptea numa pe poieni]. i say ok. i dreamt of camels. she says- that is good.
and then she says- the wine is sooooo good this year. so many tastes. i want a bit of wine at lunch. and give me a sip of coffee. and a bit of cheese.

there's another woman in the village who is also waiting to die, same age as grandma, but
this other woman is not eating anymore. grandma asks everyday about her,
if she died already or if she's still goin. she is- well, she's not eating. i eat.
even if i don't feel like eating, i eat.

take care what boy you take, she says. you realize who he is
when u see what water he's drinkin. [iti dai tu seama cine e dupa cum se adapa]
i won't be alive but you take care to take a good boy.

[later edit]

the other woman died today 22 november.
we went me and my mum to the church
twas a ceremony with six people plus the priest seven, talking about greed and also about
the good christian that has to be fully enrolled to this new way of thinking which is christianity and has to give up
his own views and ideas and then he can be a complete man [barbat] and me and my mum looked at eachother
raisin an eyebrow so it's just for men lol anyways also went to vote today
and gave my grandma some slices of pickled tomato when i got back
i dream so much and so deep everytime i sleep, she says, last night i dreamt of neighbour niculin
who was on the roof of the house shootin and said i stay 2 more days in this job then i go on vacation
now my grandma sleeps so much because she dreams so deep and always goes on such long trips

pov

2009-11-16T00:51:00.001-08:00

for the first time ever in a dream, i shifted the view as if u shift the perspective when u film smth. twas a guy who was makin jokes and came up at a balcony wth some huge orange fabric wings, like some kites tied to his shoulders, and i was seein him from the back, i was at the same floor wth him. and suddenly, the perspective shifted and i moved at the ground floor on the street in front of the balcony, and i thought- here we go, now we can see him better. he was fooling around with those wings and i had a full view.

and she mentlly hit the button with "like" after remembering this.

what you see and what you hear

2009-10-29T02:30:00.000-07:00

he grabs me by the hair and says- we have to see eachother. i'm not good. then i meet another friend near the elevator in TNB - how are you? i ask. i'm not good. i am really bad.

we drink vodka, me and another friend, in this empty grey bar, after saying goodbye 2 a friend who left her kid at home wth her father to run out nd see some theatre at the theatre night, and watched this crppy performnce wth a guy bangin his dick in a choreogrphy about alienation. we talk bout another friend who was convinced by his parents that he has schizofrenia so he decided to have a cure wth 4 tabs of LSD, and then the holy spirit got into him and turned him from gay to straight, showed him the right way. the holy spirit aprently comes quite often here in the land of the desperate.

also i hear about a young girl who fell from the mountin on precipice and died.

i dream about an actress i worked with who falls in a lake and dies.

also i see a performance by carmen cotofana, "stage psychosis", at cndb

and she screams and screms and screams and when she screams i feel good
this is cndb.

teleorman stills

2009-10-28T09:31:00.000-07:00

every gate a bench to stay

2009-10-20T16:48:00.000-07:00

when i'll miss you i'll light the 2 plastic toys i got

from bricklane when it was cold

and i was still in love with you

still discovering you

they change colors and

it's good at night to see

different colors whenever you open your eyes in fear

i have many words for you but i can't say

anything

anything to your bridges anything to your bricks and trees

in the parks anything to

your smiles laughter demented homeless

anything to your despise to your shyness

anything to your buses

i keep a secret to me about you

long term no term

2009-10-20T13:51:00.000-07:00

i read it in a history book: romania is situated at the very boder of europe (east), so even at the beginning of history, there were always foreign armies fuckin everything up wth their conquests.it was a point where everybody wanted to pass. key access point. that is why people in ro never had the notion of "long term", coz they knew that any dwelling they may start building, it will be smashed in about a year or 2.

What u see and what u hear

2009-10-14T07:57:00.000-07:00

In the train this gentleman slightly fat, slightly mobster sittin in front of me

He snores for 20 mins and then starts a conversation coz I was reading some history book

Talks about the importance of books vs internet etc etc and then tells us some news coz he’s a doctor

And he’s friends wth everybody that matters so he says stuff about basescu the president of ro that for example when he had to be operated the real reason was because he fell drunk from the stairs and that is why they decided to demolish golden blitz, the pub where he used to drink (don’t know if it has stairs, but it has been demolished) coz he was angry he got drunk there

Also about his secret plan (ups!) to split wth his wife and bring Elena Udrea as the prime minister

Then starts speakin about all the bloody arabs that have a neighbourhood in bruselles and other boring nazi shit so I stop listening then we get to beciu, teleorman (which I read today in that history book means “the big forest” from the cuman language – and it had loads of forests) and we get home and the most recent event is that a neighbour got drunk and beat up another neighbour which is my godfather and people are afraid that this neighbour who is an alcoholic will kill them. Everybody is over 60 in the village. My grandmother said well when that idiot will come in my courtyard, I will tell him hey do you see this path u are walkin on, then turn around and get out and another neighbour said well you know when u get drunk u should go into ur house and look at ur bed and say; heeey, what we got here? Look! There’s a bed. Let’s see what happens. Not beat people up.

Complexul Europa

2009-10-11T09:11:00.000-07:00

COMPLEXUL EUROPA- a collective online novel written by 5 authors. story: because of the crisis, Romania is thrown out of the EUropean Union and taken over by China.

welcome to the future and enjoy the ride. all our readers can send comments with suggestions for developing the story, characters, and stories. we write it together.

check it at http://www.bibliofagia.ro/

2009-10-09T11:03:00.000-07:00

land of the desperate you watch them disintegrate like you watch a cat die after being hit by a car

you watch them bleed with eyes wide open

2 friends commited suicide and others lost it

so people say

nowadays the word spreads like- did you hear about x? he went crazy too.

you watch them bleeding with eyes wide open

you watch this and ask yourself

wtf

the fucked kids walk between blocks and try to find the beauty

the beauty in their head

home

2009-10-07T05:36:00.000-07:00

the happy non-fucked kids walk on broad streets, rivers, clubs and gardens the fucked kids walk from one block to another and the beauty is not around them but in their head

yet i heard that there are about 30 swans some black and some white in parcul cismigiu, some white some black, and parcul ioanid is small but beautiful

also had a quick update about our political situation and i was wonderin was is the most efficient tool to create pressure on these people- that seem to generate continuous material for absurd plays- maybe pressure in media abroad? maybe writin about them nonstop? youtube? seems that is no information flow between this circus and abroad

sunday

2009-10-04T12:08:00.000-07:00

Bum bum. Pow. When the car got out of the city, all London suddenly became small and got into her bags. It was hiding there, in the colours, in the objects, suddenly having such precise and small shapes, comprised. It was there. Suddenly, the car in the dark and Rj’s hand, and the huge sky above. There is a song that used to obsess her when thinking about London 3 years ago. Senorita tristeza. Then she would listen to it during all the summer with Sorin. And then the song came back, that night, under the full moon with a big ray glowing around it. The evening walk was perfect. It was the four of them, and the saxophone singing, and the sky turning purple, and the water on Thames, dark blue and black. Black waters again. Every little detail fell so perfectly even in the sounds around, that made her think of that song again and again. When she got to the airport, she put her headphones and played it. She thought of trying to fit al the memories into words, but there’s so many memories that you wouldn’t even know where to begin. They’re not even memories yet, they are in the process of becoming, like the image with everybody in front of the house when leaving, waving their hands, or crossing the bridge again for the last time. She thought at first to make a list of all the names. Rj. Javi. Raghi. Antoine. Anna. Judy. Mark. Tiina. Nico. Chris. Adam. Cucho. Guaton. Anita. Maca. Ale. Patrice. Sarah. Chrissie. Hogash. Kota. James. Davie. Ioana. Sorin. Kevin. Dan. Misha. Paul. Dani. Aurora. The parents. All the parents. The beautiful auntie Sonia. The jolly balloon night in Dean house kitchen. Diego. The balloons. The hundreds of kids with serious eyes asking for balloons because it’s essential. The bikes in Mark’s home. The yellow flower I bought. The bottles Mark put in the ground to make a semicircle and me and Rj said it’s not that cool even though he was so proud of this invention. The coal last night, at the party. The black hands. The pevre. The piscola. The 18’s. Anita. The first days in the Brockley house. The 2 mice in the kitchen. Antoine’s cups of coffee. Raghi’s exhibition, and me feeling so woman-ish elegant. Like a lady. The fallin asleep in the bus. The wrong wake up. The way Raghi was sleeping on me. The little house for the snail Raghi drew on the window at Dean House. The conversation I had with Cucho last night about communicating. Oscar. Titi. The first barbecues at Anita’s. The girl we met at Covent garden when selling balloons and she had some ducks on her dress but they were not ducks, they were loons. Covent garden. Chester. Chester’s guitar. My umbrella. The day I sat with Sorin and Diego on the lawn and watch the balloons and played with the umbrella. The drawing I made in class about 27. My 28 birthday, when I decided that I probably am not a rock star. The thing Mark said that day when we did that exercise in class, and I was this little cute colored thing drawing a huge ugly skull on the whiteboard. The sound of the piano at that exercise. The memory surfing exercise, that became what I’m doing now. I’m wondering what is with this memory thing, that I have to keep mentioning it. Amnesia, to forget and memory became such usual words in my speech. Well annoying. The glass table in the garden. The candles. The bathroom without light, and the candle showers. The night Mark called me and I was in the shower and I felt so awkwardly emotional before meeting, like a school girl. The first going outs with Rj, and with Rj and James. The moments, in the beginning, when we were telling each other every two weeks that we are so lucky to have met. The night Ioana made me go in the kitchen, back at Dean House, when everybody was havin drinks and I said no I don’t wanna but Ioana said come on girl let’s socialize and we did, and Rj was – hey, do you know I’m a reverend? The night Diego came to Dean house and taught us how to sing with a deflated balloon. The pink saxophone. The plans. The talks. Pedagogy of the oppressed. The comings and goings. Berlin. Dan. Dan cooking. The ciorba we never got to make. The shock Jiao Jiao had when she saw how I make egg fried rice. “This just changed my life, she said.” The short cooking movies. The three weeks of writing the book, and Rj checkin up on me, just to see if I’m ok. The wine James brought for my birthday. My birthday. Walking in Brick Lane. Walking in Brick Lane with Misha. Same spots, different people. Always different people. Don’t get attached. I was telling Rj that this is so weird for me because I will feel that a part of me is missing when I’ll go back home, like somebody kept your arm or one leg in London. Crippled. Put the base in your disabled walk. Lol. I even saw Daedelus in London. I even saw Kazu in London. I saw everybody I was supposed to, like in one of those things when you make a list with all the problems you have to solve in order to make a, how they call it, new start. A less messy one. Funny enough, I’m sober in the airport, not crying, not drunk, not hangover, not desperate. Not even that scared anymore. Thinking about things I learned. It’s funny how you always try to make a sense out of things, not only a sense, but another sense, like you would need to translate or something, to give them another extra meaning besides the simple meaning they contain. That night on the water reservoir. London is the weirdest city. Ever. Orlando Harrison was right- you love it and you hate it. But in a very intense way. And then you look at yourself as the result of the meeting between you and this city. You look at this image and say: who is this woman? I don’t really know her. Thought I did, but I don’t. Like it was in the performance: you loved it so much, it made you want to do it again and again and again. It’s strange that back home things seemed to be 2 dimensional, and now they earned at least another 2 dimensions. It became so much deeper and multi-layered. And time became different too. Right. Coz I’ve been living near the place where time starts, in Greenwhich. The green light of time. The morning I woke up and realized I can’t go back to the old dramatic-russian feelings. That day was so simple and clear, and beautiful, when I walked home with a flower for Javi, and with a huge smile on my face, and then sat outside and looked at the grey sky. Javi was so beautiful that day, smoking outside, with her dark grey sweater, and the long long hair. Some little things I will miss so much. Nico’s smile and laughter and the way he throws his head on the back a little when he laughs. Cucho’s innocent smile when he smiles with all his heart and looks like a lamb. A jolly one. Anita’s freshness and the way she says “and all that”. Raghi’s look when she doesn’t understand something. Morning rituals and waking up together. That moment when you open your eyes exactly the same second as somebody and you sort of step together into the day. Mark’s gesture when he’s enthusiastic about something and he’s rubbin his hands. The way he walked out of Amersham, with his helmet and his drum like a proper knight goin to fight the army. Shet. Hope ur good and they didn’t put you in any Istanbul prison by now. About Centrepoint I can’t even write, I felt that my heart literally hurt when I walked out, it was so fuckin sad and weird. For me it was as if that place is always gonna be there, about 20 mins far in Camberwell around the corner. And one of the best things somebody told me that day- I was talking with N and E about my last month and N was laughin and sayin- “She’s like us!”

1:42. Staring at some commercial with a huge “WWW” written on it, and in the WWW you can see a plane flyin on the sky, a pyramid and a woman in a hammock. Another sign near it says “start enjoying your trip now”. The “food village” is opening. Two guys put the chairs down from the tables and a short fuss of preparing to change seats is going around me. I have a wild guess about who might be Romanian in this row of seats, but I’d rather keep it mysterious. I bought a sandwich, a fruit salad and a smoothie and some nuts. And some jelly pink pigs that apparently taste like fruit. Which reminds me about the penguins last night, floating in the wine. This sounds almost like we had a pool of wine in which there were floating some penguins, but actually they were little blue plastic ice penguins from the freezer. Cucho and me wanted to name them but I don’t think we were as inspired as in the night with Oscar and Marx. I wonder if I should do anything else than write continuously until 6 o’clock, when the check in is. The wireless is a joke, you need to pay if you want to connect. That’s so random. I’m thinking to read the cards I got again, but then I will start crying and that episode is over. Last night when Rj and I were reading the cards from Javi was the best. Actually, me crying for 2 hours at the party was even better. Nico I hope I didn’t stain ur clothes. Thanks for bearing, you were not even drunk, poor Nico. I saw the pictures after the party and I have such a child’s face when I’m huggin Nico it feels like I was craving for affection (AGAIN) for so long.

07:17. airport. Had to get rid of about 15 kilos of clothes from my luggage. I have gate 2, on.

tuesday

2009-09-29T05:28:00.000-07:00

had a flash the other night while semisleeping i saw the bd maria elisabeta near the pizza hut corner, i was semisleeping and then i felt a strong dust taste and sun, and i was there. luckily enough m was there to hold me in the real physical reality. but i think i have accumulated at least 4 or 5 realities by now. and then close my eyes and back again. i took a virtual bucharest tour, gettin ready. walked in cismigiu, on magheru, near my former highschool, zoomin in. i feel like a wet kitty. and then just this huge need to be hugged. something here just triggered this huge need for affection.

this is smth i wrote on the bus 2 weeks ago, when goin to t's goodbye party. part my part of the "CCTV celebrities" is based on it.

In London I experienced hunger.

There was a poster with this guy on an off licence shop, Ahmed Zarif. His picture. His name. Below it- RIP Ahmed Zarif. Behind him a whole sce

nery of forests and waterfalls. He was looking from

the other world in this white elegant suit with a perfect tie, like he knew something.

He pissed me off. Made me think of death again. Made me think of the limited number of years in front of me.

Walking with your thoughts. It’s like riding a horse. If you loose it, your head may get smashed. But you don’t. Cause you’ve been trained. That’s what they’re doing all your life. Teaching you to ride that horse. Don’t go with the wild horse, sweety! Slow it down, honey! Oh, honeypie, look at the horsey! Doesn’t it look so much nicer today than yesterday? Much nicer and domesticated? The horse will become even more nicer and even more domesticated with each passing day. You won’t even recognize it. It will be just as nice as all the other people’s horses. And then we can go to a nice horse parade together and drink som

e nice tea. Wouldn’t that just be lovely?

I don’t want to hurt anybody. But I do. The moment I am myself, I do hurt people around me.

The rule is killing. And we are living in this game. And they like it. People like to let other people kill them. They’re in love. To love is to let yourself be hurt. To allow yourself to be smashed.

I cultivate amnesia coz I try to forget all the moments that are so nonsensical that they make you question the pure fact of existing in t

his world. But those are wild horses. And as they say, you have to slow them down, slow down. Slow down. Here we go. Delete. Fresh. Refresh. Half of your life you try to forget what happened in the other half of life. Innit?!? Forget where you come from. How can you not? Those big grey blocks full of fear and desperation I’m going back to soon. They tell you- don’t speak, it’s better. If you stand out from the crowd, somebody will see you. Don’t be noticed. Just sit in your chair like a good girl and they will they care of you. Who takes care of you . the state. Who is the state. Nobody took care of me except from my pare

nts. Do you take care of me? Can you take care of me>? What is the limit? What is your line? Where’s the line? Forget about it. Fuck. Forget. That park one day. Our toys were such ugly ones. And the big metal cartoon characters. If you got lose to snow white u could see that rust and if you want to give her a hug you cut your face in the metal. Health and safety. Fuck that. Fuck that. I want home. I want home. No home. What home?
In the first day we have a deal. We will give you a

roof over your head, protect you and feed you, but we have some conditions. Rich people have conditions. First of all, you have to let us control you all the time. You will still be able to have a key to your room. Your room is called your personal space. You will be allowed to bring a few guests, but not more than 4 times a week. When they enter the building they have to show an ID with a photo. It can be any Id. Drivers’ licence is good as well. Yes. And keep the music low. We know you smoke marijuana but we will pretend we don’t/ you have to pretend that you don't know we know you smoke marijuana too. It is not allowed to touch children. It is not allowed to touch. Without touch. No touch. No touch. Hungry.

You come in such a civilized country to make a “forgetting” treatment. Forget the frustration. Forget the fear. You are a grown woman now. You will have a life of your own. Furnished with a partner. Furnished with love. But not too much lov

e. Coz you will stain the walls. How many times do you think we can afford to repaint this life? We are poor, Oana, remember. We are poor. What does that mean? I don’t even understand. Poor means when you cannot have those metal coins and paper notes to use, and because you don’t have them, the people who have them have to be understanding, tolerating and most of all not shake their hands thinking- oh, you know, people are so frustrated. They are almost like being sick in the head because of frustration. Can you imagine, not being able to have what you want? They are a bit sick, aren’t they? What do you think? They are right.

So the rich protect the poor because they understand them, and the poor try to live under this protection because otherwise they’re fucked

. Because the rich have some conditions. Don’t they?

That’s why we should be afraid of the poor. What I learned in London is to cross the street when you see somebody on the same sidewalk late at night and not to talk to strangers. Because that’s our understanding. Innit. Isn’t it strange that when you are close to somebody on the street, the impulse makes you go as further away the space allows you and yet you share the living space with so many different people everyday, trying to repress that feeling of running away because you can have some benefits from living close to some people? Is love a benefit? Is friendship a benefit? What is going on? Have the horses gone crazy? Have they, mommy? No honey, you’re good. You’re gonna ride your horses in a nice

way until you get far. And where will I get when I get far, mommy? You will get to your last moment, love. To the moment when you will breathe in, but not let the breath go out anymore. Keep it in you forever. And become just like that kitty your friend pet on the head when she came back from that party and didn’t notice the kitty was dead. A dead body. And then slowly become earth. Strange, mommy, does that mean that we’re walking on dead bodies all the time/ Coz we’re walking on the earth. Yes, sweetie, the earth is all the dead people from the beginning of the world. Being there so that you can live. And you will go there so that other people can live after you too. Coz without all the dead bodies, the earth would be gone, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it, sweetie? Yes it would, mommy. Yes it would.
The moments I was close to understanding some very important things in my life were the moments when I was also scared as shit that I would die soon. I’ve always had this image of a car crushing me, or falling of stairs, or something. A click. A short click. But then after every moment like this, a part of me dies. And old part of me. And a new one’s born.

I’ve always hunted those moments of revelation. Maybe because I feel that I have to kill a part off me all the time. And to feed myself with it

. Hunger and death. Not enough pennies to take one more bus.

This will be a night you will never forget.

We are living following the rules of an agreement. And this agreement is called money. If you have them, the rule is that you are happy. If you don’t, the rule is that you are not happy. And you try to get some, to transfer some from othe

r people, in order to be happy. Sometimes you are not. You’re not, if you forget the rules of the game. You will be, if you play it properly. Innit?!?

This trip seems endless. I have to count my coins. Maybe they will give me some happiness.

I always liked the reflections of people’s faces in the bus’ windows. The bus is such a good space to understand the rules of the game. Here we are, close to one another, looking and being aware of each other’s presence, but ignoring each other at the same time. That is like a silent pact. We can either kill each other, or protect each other.

There's still so many things I don't get.

Tuesday. We have wednesday and thursday- the performance. then friday- the goodbye party. then vruuuuum.

.

2009-09-27T06:02:00.001-07:00

the big cold

2009-09-27T04:32:00.000-07:00

i ask myself the same questions as when i was 14, does that mean i am emotionally immature or just stubborn? sometimes i feel i'm some monster i have to drag with me wherever i go and at some point i know that people would be embarrased and i would have to drag the monster home, lock it in a cage and put a sheet on it. the last month has been only about that. about how to adapt myself and this stupid thirst i have, in order to live between other people. i became very self reflective and a bit more articulate in my thoughts. weird enough, i still don't get the convention. the convention between people. what are you allowed and what are you not. and where is this line people keep talking about. i was freezing this morning in the station. london cold, waitin 40 minutes to take the bus. sometimes i wish i lived amongst animals, animals when they are cold just gather one next to eachother and keep warm; the humans stand like stupid asses in their little coats and their little caps and just freeze. i guess they deserve it.

sunday morning, quiet in the house. there's a garden with a tree, and a big kitchen. the washing machine that washes for 2 and a half hours. the toasts with salt. the fridge buzzing. i try to get myself together. where does this expression come from? and how do you loose urself in order to then try to get it back together? i still try to understand this mechanism of the brain. what does the trick. projecting something and then being happy that it happened? i still try to understand what my tools for understanding are. i ty to articulate things in order to look at them as if they are another organism. like i am somebody else and i look at this person.

london. the big cold. same old police in the corner. the girls smashed with shoes in their hands goin out of venue. somebody peeing on the dean house fence, as always. i never understood why do they pee exactly where the door is. yestareday on the streets everybody seemed crazy, in the bus and all over the place. and then, passing clouds.

what happens to humans when they get drunk is that they scream for affection. their screams are embarrasing for some reason, that is why they don't like to remember. they scream so loud and so fearful that they have to control themselves from before.that's why we have bouncers. i strongly believe we are crippled. we have to deal with this need for affection and for togetherness that makes us hate eachother if we don't provide, and love eachother if we provide, and love because we don't want to loose the feeling that somebody loves you that much. what the hell happened on the way that we got so schizo? why are you a control freak during the day and a hysteric baby during the night? or maybe it's just my stupid way of dreaming about people. about that moment of togetherness that is not possible. maybe it's just a virus a nostalgic remain from a world in which we were all animals, a stupid nostalgia that you have to bare with.

2009-08-08T09:21:00.000-07:00

what would u be if u were a tree

what would u be if you were a word

what would u be if u were a dream

july end

2009-07-31T14:37:00.001-07:00

today i bought my ticket for bucharest, made the reservation. 4th october 09, sunday. almost one year now. somebody told me- ur gonna find us all changed when u get back. some things will be, but i fear most of the things will just be exactly the same. don't know exactly how to prepare for that except the fact that i will defenitely have my hair bleached again before coming home. or before going home. depends on the perspective.

last month, fast forward.

sold baloons on embankment and in trafalgar square. zi giraffe, zi dog, zi magic sword and zi helmet, zi clown and zi biutiful assistant and zi children all over the place. would you like a baloon? yes i would. serious. serious faces, big eyes, waiting for the coloured baloon animals to come to life. sometimes zi clown would pop the baloon by mistake and then we would shout- celebratiooooon!! and then take another baloon. keep your fingers crossed, otherwise the baloon won't come to life! and they did, and then the baloon would come to life. one baloon, 50p.clowns are hungry, clowns gotta eat, we'd say, and then the mothers will smile with their motherish wisdom, because they know what hunger means. where are you from? romania. how is romania? oh, there are even more clowns there. and the fathers would smile with their fatherish wisdom. fathers tend to be more political than mothers.

first day when we went to trafalgar, we sat near a woman who was painted as a statue, body paint and 18th century dress, standing for people to take pictures with her. at some point, she came to talk to us, and she asked where r u from? romania. really??? she asked in shock. yea, why? do you know it? do you speak romanian? da, mai vorbesc si romaneste. da de unde esti? din vrancea. then she went back to her place. colega.

joyce wrote in exile for all his life about the country he had left. he took a part of the country with him, though. but the part of the country he took, that was his wife, did never read his works. jung thought joyce has schizophrenia after reading ulysses.

sloane square area is the most expensive area on the planet. go planet.

i have a friend who can smell faces. she has this sense, and when she looks at a face, she can feel a smell, one certain smell, that will remain associated with the face for the rest of her life. my smell was very very syrup sweet, intense sweet.

working at cp, last month. i will probably never see some of those people again, which makes it even more incredibly strange. the sadness and melancholy and quietness they have. even when they're loud, they're quiet. even when they have a fight, they don't believe that they are right. the words and images they generate are so simple and beautiful. "if i was a moon, i want everyone to see me at the same time"

july beginning- gay pride, lady gaga and take that, wembley and 80000 people, strange clouds on the sky, always strange clouds on the sky. friends and beautiful memories that become memories even the second you live them because you know that in a few months you will not see those people. dinners and indian cooking, best food i ever had in london, and chilean parties. mixed up realities, and all of us smiling as if in a big hug, already on a postcard in our thoughts, with the sunset light behind us. busses and trains and streets. the parks, huge parks hidden in the heart of the city, and the football trainings with the young people. i always wondered- calling somebody a young person is a form of political corectness?

i got a pink inflatable saxophone which i have with me and i can sing whenever i want. i tied it up with baloons (the ones that already have popped, coz we can't waste a good baloon).

i also got a flower on emonth ago, and after a week i thought it died, coz it had only dead flowers on it, but rj taught me to rip the dead ones in order to make space for the live ones, and i did, and then other flowers came up.

my room looks like a playground. i sometimes think that all these coloured things and found objects that keep on gathering around me, and even my clothes and everything, are more what people see in me, and i am happy because of that. i never see myself like that. i see myself like senorita tristeza, but whenever i meet people, they wanna play. so the playground generates around us, and that is so beautiful. i wish it could all be a big coloured playground for the big kids.

senorita tristeza was a song i used to listen to last year in spring, when i was applying for goldsmiths. i listened to it on and on al lthe time and see thames in front of my eyes and embankment bridge while walking on bd magheru.

last week at embankment we met a guy who was performing charlie chaplin, his name was diego. he was from argentina. he left argentina at 25 years old, to go in other countries to perform chaplin on the streets, and he never stopped since. now he is 35. he moved from place to place, going around the world, with a 30 mins number with chaplin for the streets, and other stuff to perform inside, in theaters/venues, just him and some objects easy to carry around. he said he never went too much to eastern europe because there there is still tension on the streets. he said he would stop when he's old, and he'd seen all the world, and then he will go back to argentina to stay with his family, smoke, grow a big beard and a big belly. he was quite a chaplin. we asked him if he rehearses a lot and he said nooooo, not to much preparation, with too much preparation your mind is no longer free.

the moon and the bubbles and the universe

2009-06-23T06:32:00.001-07:00

pa pa pa

2009-06-23T05:48:00.000-07:00

brave beige

2009-06-21T06:21:00.000-07:00

one of the videos from the performance "size me", by the brave beige

2009-06-20T11:14:00.001-07:00

there are moments when water on thames is black and beautiful and you don't see the dirt anymore
everything is peaceful and you are home

2009-06-18T07:28:00.001-07:00

PDA = public display of affection

PDLA = public display of love and affection

TMI= too much information

all of them forbidden as touching a child is forbidden

whenever i smile to a child i immediately feel guilty; and people still ask me why don't i want to stay in london after i graduate

i would like to see the londoners' darkest secret fetish fantasies i bet they are sooo bad ass
a guy told me last week that he really doesn't mind goin out with any type of girl, he went out with an afro-american then he went out with a brazilian and he was fascinated by the fact that i'm romanian

i think that all this diversity shit is worse than the nazi camps at least it has the potential

put a CCtV in the brain of the londoners and reinvent horror movies
one day a girl was just so sure that she can take me home with her and because she was drunk, she was already posessing me in her brain, she had the right to just pull me by my sexy yellow belt and drag me to her place oh i just wanna take you home!
i think she even had a little bondage fantasy
of course when we met again she just felt embarrased and said i'm sorry
all these things connect i think i can be such a sweet doll here in london
and omg these people who love really sweet dolls are really dangerous
the quantity of despise they have in their eyes
the quantity of hate they so elegantly repress and call it tolerance
i'm nice, i'm exotic and i'm fun.
i was talking with my friends the other day that we all seem to exagerate our "exotic" cliches just because people react to that and then it all becomes a joke.
i was at the refugees week yesterday at centrepoint and i think more and more that the only thing i respect here in london is people who are really hungry cooking for eachother.

2009-06-17T18:13:00.000-07:00

if karate kid and charlie chaplin would have a child i would be their illegal daughter
or a warrior with 1000 de scuturi going down in
the water or somebody shouting under water to keep the flag
keep the flag keep the flag up the water
that moment when you go and undress
without even knowing when u are naked and that moment
of raising your head from the sleep when you thought you were dreaming
and are afraid to not forget what you were thinking about yourself
so you want to put it down and you know it matters
keep the flag up keep the flag up some voice shouts in the back of your head
boiling water and grandpa's laboratory for developing pictures in the bathroom

if only you could remember all these things as if it's always always
the same problem with keeping the present here and the perfect state of being
amnesia
is the big word amnesia i'm serious about myself and i know

all this shit matters

isn't it like a book i found on a shelf called something about surfing reality
and i was told it's about positive thinking

or was it trans surfing reality

we have to be careful with the right distribution of anger, love
memories, plans and excitement if you are a good gospodar you might
you just might oh if you are a good wise gardener in the garden of your mind and soul
and you handle with care wear with pride

2009-06-15T01:41:00.000-07:00

weekend in the city superstar
gonna miss a lot superstar gonna loose ur way superstar
gonna wonder why doesn't he call gonna just roll
and roll
and roll
always like london in the morning with a pink filter
when all the people u see seem to come from the same party 6 am
and everybody is somebody u know everybody is somebody
hey
been wondering around embankment these days some ghosts
there with me on the bridge beautiful black water
dirty water and last night some guy with a guitar and a microphone
quite heart-breaking folk-ish wow got a bit lost under the london eye
he was singing stand by me and he was from japan or smth and i
was looking at the black waves and thinkin about other forms of life big ben
was there as well near us big ben from english my love big ben from
all the postcards everybody is living his dream and the dreams just
intersect and make a click like electricity when they do
when they don't just leave many ghosts and strange vibrations
frequences u can't quite reach i was watching the sunset in hyde park
with kazu yesterday he was in his world i was in mine
ducks and planes and all that shit no patience sorry
no more patience just clenching fists waitin for the movie to end
generic thank you great acting great conversation great timing now just go home

.

2009-06-10T13:58:00.001-07:00

2009-06-04T02:56:00.001-07:00

dream every night for 4 days now that i'm back home in my sleep i'm back home in bucharest but i wanna go back to london, when i wake up i'm in london and i wanna go back to bucharest.
2day it got a bit different- dreamt that i'm in bucharest and i wanna go back to london and that then i woke up in my dream and was in london and wanted to go back to bucharest. and then I really woke up. in london.

2009-06-03T11:47:00.000-07:00

.

2009-05-28T18:12:00.000-07:00

america's next top model made me have nightmares
but i really appreciate it it brought the poses to my life it brought tyra to my life it brought the models
now when somebody tells me something about my body i'm double aware
now when i see kids worried about getting too fat or too slim i know
after watching amnt for evenings on and on i got
my worst nightmares ever but now i know

that on this world paranoia hate and braindamage are for real

and now i know about lindsay lohan and about designers oh and now i know that
i miss home but hey
its the 29th of may
i just got a letter from loring hall telling me i have to pay 600 pounds but i don't know why
i can ignore or ignore no other options and hey
did you know how that cooking pancakes at 6 in the morning and then giving them to people
is a really nice way to start ur day even if those people are the ones who take money and then make them double or even more they move money like jesus moved the sick people
diggin more graves on the playground maybe jesus was the good zombie from a bad movie but hey
canary wharf is an experience
london eye is an experience omg everything is a experience and you have to experience
everything
peckham is an experience and brixton is an experience and soon
brixton jail will be an experience this summer and also
this and that and him and her and omg
i'm looking at my grandmas picture everyday when i drink tea
her picture is just behind the teapot
i think almost everyday about her just can't stop thinking that i missed the chance
of getting to know her i discovered her in a drawer just discovered how beautiful she was
no way of goin back now can't really speak to her but it's ok you know how things are

you understand how things are

i feel my mind gets color corrections everyday and everyday more

color scale and opacity

oh final cut pro

you can make the impossible possible. will you make me beautiful? will you make me ugly? will you make me meet the man of my dreams? maybe you will. when i edit i have the secret dream that i will meet a guy who will raise his eyes from behind the computer and will draw a horrible coloured heart just with his eyes and then we climb on a magic carpet and dive into paint buckets

the speed of my thoughts and desires

america's last top model

one day she'll fly away

and give all the bad bad people from down there a good frown

i just discovered

fear is the best adrenaline shot

walking trip, tiina's secret places

2009-04-12T07:58:00.000-07:00

red shoes cinderella syndrome

2009-04-11T08:25:00.000-07:00

you wake up on this narrow leather couch in this perfect huge house with glass doors and leather armchairs you look around and see the remote controls and the big window,
oh canada waters canada waters, thames is bigger than u knew it when u look outside, it's like the house is on a deck the house is big but you are cold
it seems it is impossible to sleep in a bed or get a blanket in such a big fancy house
omg you miss your little green marker
the kid went to the bathroom he is probably puking and you look at the perfect glass doors and perfect glass tables and the tv in the corner, and at the leather armchair with another leather armchair in front of it to keep ur feet up,
ur only concern is not to loose ur earing the golden heart u found in hyde park,
u know it's loose, it's already off, you pick it up from the couch, put it on, take your shoes and jacket and run. close the doors. on the entrance stairs there are some elegant women's red shoes, u are sorry u didn't take ur camera, three big red pairs of shoes on the first three steps size 40
its 7 o'clock in the morning the air is cold and u walk fast look at the houses, there is a rich area near canada waters, with a walking pier, looks strange, perfectly still, cars are parked, people asleep, lots of big glass doors and interior stairs,
big cars and perfect gardens,
walk and feel trapped, walk and feel one more time that shit in your chest asking you what CAN you do, what should you do, all these are there and they won't change, people just won't change and you are powerless in front of everything the big red houses who are like so material so strong and big with their big perfect door glasses, wtf can u do with or without your little green marker, this is really like a big joke, cherry gardens and another walking pier,
oh canada waters you just talked to me this morning through your perfect red shoes, and then walk and walk and walk,
some guy walks with you and tries to convince yo to be his "babymother",
he decides to respect your choice not to be the mother of his children, his name is victor and he is a nice guy until he decides that you can be his first true love,
then he stops to pee near a wall, and you run away one more time, get the bus and go home
i have the cinderella syndrome my friends told me

rest in peace alex

2009-04-08T21:04:00.001-07:00

no alex godri is not on the internet he didn't get there just yet father an international singer u find the father on the internet but he didn't get there just yet no profile pictures no wall to write. he now a ghost died last week so did george costea told me called me and said- bai am o veste cam proasta. a murit alex. and so RIP or how they say it, i'm sorry i didn't find you any weed in vama veche last summer, alex, i'm sorry that u had all those shitty problems, i'm sorry that i thought you went crazy when i saw you at tnb and that i felt sorry for you. we all the sane and alive know that so well right? sorry for many things. i'm sorry now i didn't kiss you 5 years ago when we were dancing breakfast at tiffanys in vama veche and you rolled on the sand laughing and u then had no worries, you talked to me about life and about the stars on the sky and about all the wonderful things you want to do in life, and about the trust you have in you and about how wonderful life is, i was looking at you and you were so beautiful, we talked for hours then, you were in love with one of mircea toma's daughters and everything was so great for you back then. i'm sorry for all the sorrow. i will forget about your death as quickly as i forgot about my grandmother's death because i can't think about it. i will delete you alex from all the memories and crop you from all the pictures and maybe in a few years i will come back at these memories again. or when i will meet with catinca or george or barna or andreea or sma or ciprian or the others, and think about you. rest in peace. they say that even if you don't believe a prayer, if you say it many times, it does something, so rest in peace rest in peace rest in peace rest in peace rest in peace rest in peace rest in peace rest in peace rest in peace rest in peace rest in peace rest in peace alex.

pop corn

2009-04-08T20:31:00.000-07:00

what i learned lately FFW

2009-04-08T15:34:00.000-07:00

how to make spanish omlette, butter is good and sometimes can save the day, u can make polenta at dean house, club literar is still alive, reading the newspapers can provide instant charmingly intellingent thoughts, good for self esteem, blue hair dye is back( and i'm back to blue), stealing clothes and books is actually much easier than i expected, bob dylan was a charmer, rupaul is one hack of a dragqueen, i started talking with "girl" after seeing rupaul's dragshow, the greenline at greenwich is the meridian line, i like little britain, weed is good, speed is for free and rave parties have their own providers, the person who was killed around new cross was stabbed 196 times, you have to eat different textures if u wanna loose weight, i don't give a shit about "professional well trained" community artists, doing community arts is something very personal, i would like to sleep rough for a few days to see how it really is, the guys from creme cafe are stupid because they say they "don't sell israelian products but they are not fascists, all the jews are welcome", fuck off, johnny rotten did a commercial for butter, i like little britain, the sky in london is very colorful, you have to eat regularly so not to fuck up your stomach, but i just don't think i am ready for this yet, london is a fat lady, london is a selfish slut, hackney has a new pond thanks to the olympics, peter pan is magic and wendy is alive and old, david bowie sings so beautifully "alabama song", david bowie is nice, david bowie is a vampire, i should wear more scarves on my head, they look good on me, i definitely should make that tatoo on my right hand and i think it's gonna be a diamond, making plasticine little toys can help get rid of anxiety, fassbinder was totally right with his thing about love, a millionaire killed his wife and daughter in their sleep because he didn't want them to find out that they are bankrupt over night, then he set himself and his house on fire, ceburashka is definitely a figure that's gonna follow me through all my life so i'd better get used to that, thanks misha, andy warhol was not an insensitive bitch, that's for all the sensitive haters out there, "cultural diversity" is one of the most hypocrite terms ever invented until now for "intolerance" and "tolerance" is the most lame term invented until now for "if i had a red button that would erase u from the face of the earth i would push it right now", silence is sometimes golden, people are obsessed with themselves and only with themselves and that is not that bad after all, indians have the weirdest fruit alive, the cakes from brick lane are sooo good, having sex should be something everybody has the right to practice at least 5 times a week morning/evening, having children can be a total trauma for adults, i like my mother, i like takin pictures of people and making them feel good, street dance is really complicated, you got served is a popular street dance movie, kidulthood is a stupid movie, sweet sixteen is a great movie, kids wanna kill adults, kids wanna have children and kill the adults, playing pool is one of the best things in the world, i should get red bright nail polish, squirrels are robots, and brixton is great.

lately on my live channel

2009-02-28T13:16:00.000-08:00

do the pilot

2009-01-21T17:07:00.000-08:00

ok. so what have I been doing. first of all, to keep the entertaining style, i would write about my adventures with the project pitch exam yesterday, but then if i think twice i think i will write first about the project pitch itself. so we had to talk about a project we want to do in front of a comission who was playing the role of a funding panel. the people in the comission were my two teachers, chrissie tiller and phil muelen, and 2 colleagues- the colleagues changed, 2 at a row. we had 5 minutes for the presentation, 2 minutes for Q&A, and then you had to go out and let the panel decide if they give you the money or not. virtual money, of course. i mean not even virtual money, coz one should think of lindens. not virtual, but non-existent money. i will write here a short description of my project- some excerpts from the presentation:

THE FIRST YOUNG HOMELESS PEOPLE’S CARNIVAL ON THE STREETS OF LONDON

Will happen in Camberwell Green, and will be led by a group of 30 residents at The Camberwell Green Centrepoint Centre for young Homeless People; the young people will lead the procession following a route on the Camberwell streets and parks on the first Sunday of July, from afternoon until midnight.

Each of the 30 carnival-leaders participants will create his character, costume, mask and instrument during a one month workshop held by a team of 5 artists. One musician, one visual artist, one performer, one playwright and one carnival artist will constitute the core team that will provide the workshops for the young people and help them explore and create their own carnival characters.

The carnival will bring young homeless people from London and all those who want to celebrate life and freedom and the coming of summer, in the magic of giving up their daily social roles and inhibitions. The carnival’s main purpose will be to eliberate and bring togehter the inhabitants of Camberwell, Centrepoint residents from all London, Centrepoint staff and homeless people. It will be supported and assisted by The local authorities, The Camberwell Wardens, and Centrepoint staff, and it will be based on a grassroots infrastructure which will function on the sharing-knowledge and skills system, through invited guests and volunteers.

PERSONAL MOTIVATION AND PROOF OF NEED

As I have been working at Centrepoint as a volunteer in the Camberwell Green Foyer, I have noticed the strong need for an arts project who would provide release and an explosion of creativity and group bonding for the young residents. Also considering the fact that there have been no notable outdoor events for young homeless people in London, and no outdoors event at all for young homeless people in Camberwell, and thinking also about the people who live in Camberwell, the majority being immigrants from all over the world, also considering the fact that life on the streets of London, especially in neighbourhoods like Camberwell, seems to be governed by fear, suspicion and alienation, I have designed a project that could bring people together and help them put the differences appart. My very personal belief is that if young homeless people would get over the shame society has induced them and over the horrible stigmatization that they also tend to throw on themselves and go out on the streets to celebrate the good things in their lives, they would overcome very big mental blocks and frustrations and build a much stronger and proud community. A partnership between Goldsmiths University of London, which is one of the most innovative and creative arts schools in London, Centrepoint, who is the largest company that supports young homeless people in the UK, and Camberwell Local Authorities, who had funded innovative programmes, such as Bonkersfest, or Camberwell Arts festival, would be a very good way of making this work. "

i have to say that 2day, after speaking with a colleague of ioana about social inclusion as opposed to social access, i was glad that there are some other people who feel that the term "inclusion" in condescendent and a bit degrading.

so that's my project. i was a bit scared about the budget, which was about 30000pounds, which is kind of fucked up, but i was ready to try to find those money. so, looking back in time now, i come from bucharest and start to structure the project, write it, plan it, u know, all those things. get some dvd-s about carnivals, learn more about notting hill carnival, and learn more about the summer of love, - after seeing "a technicolor dream", i think with emotion that i really am in the city where not longer than 50 years ago syd barret, john lennon and all the good people were doing acid at the technicolor dream party at alexandra palace, april the 29th of april, and all those big names of music talking about that day in terms of- "i don't exactly remember what happened then , but it was like an 14 hours orgasm in a way", and ginsberg reading poetry at the royal albert hall, and i realize that i was actually leaving near royal albert hall 2 years ago. and about how a 2 years movement ended- "i don't think that was a particular event, i think that people finally crashed and went to bed."

and i read some more stuff, it all links in a way or another with this carnival idea, i see how notting hill started, and i write and write.

have a break for my birthday, i organize a birthday event on friday- go and choose a pub in shoredich where we would all go before the party, and find the place where the party would be, stoke newington 36, i walk there, find the place just to be sure i will know the way the next day, on saturday. while in shoreditch, i have the impression that the little prince just got out from a doubledecker, i am stunned, he certainly is the little prince, but older- 17-18, and dark haired, he has a green army coat and boots, and walks a bit jumpy- at least that's how i remember it now- the same as people were saying about syd barret, that he used to walk a bit jumpy, like on some invisible arcuri or something. before seeing him, i was gonna walk to shoreditch highstreet up to kingsland road and then up to stoke newington, to find stoke newington 36, bartens boudoir, but when i saw the little prince, i stopped near him, pretending i was looking on a map in a bus station. then he sat on the bench, and i sat as well, at the other end. unfortunately i didn't see his face. he jumped in a bus which was not my bus, and dissapeared. now, while writing, i realize that i should have got into that bus, but i really wanted to get to stoke new. so that's it.

that was my last 27 years' old day. and related to that- we had an exercise at school, to represent an event that changed our lives, and i did a drawing and made a short performance about the event with the datura when i almost died, this summer. i explain something about eating a poisonous cactus. part of the drawin was like that:

i explain how when i was a kid i was sure that it's no worth living longer than 27, coz all the respectable people - i think that's how i said it - died at 27- kurt cobain, jim morrison, jimi hendrix etc. part of the exercise is that i draw a huge skull on the whiteboard, similar to the one in the drawing. a colleague of mine mark says after that that it was so strange to see this very little girl all dressed in pink and yellow and bright colors, and with a funny pink hat, drawing a horrible skull signifing death. i'm glad that they respond with sympathy to my datura-story. sometimes i feel, as i've also told mark, that they tolerate me, like i am a cute person they don't totally understand but they like in a strange way, i feel like a freak sometimes. that's how i wanted to feel with my story, i have all those beautiful clishees, death at 27, and me with my punk-ish cool style, and all. anyway, some of my colleagues respond with respect to that story, and we go further.

i celebrate getting out of my possible year of death by watching a youtube clip together with sorin, at 0:00, my hour. he at piata chibrit, me at new cross, which is also a sort of piata chibrit, but anyways, jim morrison, and especially jim morrison on youtube is international an immortal. so we listen to the lost tapes of paris, part 6 of 7, and talk about if the world will or not will end/cure/be better.

the birthday party goes well. as planned. haha- tiina, my finnish colleague, is really genuinly happy about the party and the bands, and i also am very amazed by the rock'n'roll band, i mean there's a band who genuinely sings rock'n'roll and has a fat cello singer, a drummer on speed with an elvis hair and a siger wit ha white elvis costume. i dance like crazy and almost laugh thinking that the rockstar in me hasn't died.

an auntie and wise rockstar, who dances only when she's drunk. we get home trying to help my friend walk, he looses his key and sleeps at my place. i throw all my clothes on the floor and improvise a bed for me and mark. he laughs, this is an awkward situation. for no particular reason i open my colored little umbrella and put it on the chair. i later realize i was instincively splitting the space btw me and mark and my friend. anyways, this awkward situation ends the next day, and i spend the day with james and rj, in a vegetable state. then monday. i go to the library and start writing the project. i've been working since i got here, so all that was left was the budget and some details about possible partnerships etc. so i write until 23 o'clock and go back home. i am happy with the result. satisfied, as they say. all i have to do is some editing- i have to find the best way of writing the printed version i will hand to my teachers while i talk at the project pitch. i think about maybe doing some stuff in photoshop. buy amir's, open the computer, open the file i've been workin at all day long, and which contains all the written project, from a to z. the file doesn't open. i mean it opens, but is blank. instead of 11 pages of project, eleven blank pages. i try various times more, still blank. finish eating my chips staring at the screen. and i can't redo the budget coz for no reason i have no internet. and all the prices were there, on the internet. after the anger's gone, which is almost one hour, i start writing it again. i finish at 7:32 in the morning, put myself to bed for half hour, i know one half hour makes the difference, close my eyes and imagine ducks floating on a lake. this brings so much peace to my heart, i don't know why, that i open my eyes and feel that i've slept the whole night. i write the budget- it was the only one left,i write it in big lines, still 30000pounds. then put it on the memory stick, go. take a bacon bap, favourite breakfast, on the way. it usually takes me exactly 2 minutes to eat it, which is the way from the shop to the school, with a bit delay for the last bites when i don't want to go chewing to the morning course. now i just wait in front of the library to finish it, i meet mark who has just printed his, tell him about the corrupted file, he feels sorry for it, then goes, i go in, print it and then copy it in 4 exemplare. 11 pagesx4. as it gets late, and the exam starts at 10, i don't have time to arrange the pages for the 4 exemplare i will hand out to the teachers, and i rush to go into the classroom. i go, and have a bit of a panic about how the fuck will i put my papers in order now, that the exam just started. i choose to be the fifth, and so i will have time. i sit on my chair nicely. my colleague tiina starts. it is a bit like an unatc exam, but the panel is nicer. tiina sits on a chair close to the panel and talks to them almost as if they had an apparte, and us, the other ones, are just the present-but-not-present audience. ahile she talks, i try to arrange my papers in total silence. seems like a zen-dance. so i have one copy in the right order, and the other 4 exemplare in the order 1-1-1-1, 2-2-2-2, 3-3-3-3 etc and i have to put it 1-2-3-4...11. i manage with the set of 1-2-3-4, and then something strange happens. i look at the papers and see that i've copyed all the other papers backwards. reversed. in the wrong way. i look at the paper in my hand, it is like the direction of the letters is switched. omg. i look, all the rest of them are the same. backwards. reversed. the other way round. i start laughing and try to show mark, but i have to be silent, and he seems to be focused on the panel. it seems incredible to me, i mean how can u after all that work and struggle to copy more than half of ur papers backwards? what can i do now? how can i give to my teachers my project written backwards? it is so stupid that it makes me laugh. i throw all the papers under my chair and decide not to give any papers to the teachers, just speak. si when my turn comes, i appologize for the technical problems and then speak. as i look at them, and they have to look at me, i get carried away and get excited, i speak about the project but only the main things, don't have time enough, i can't cover it but i'm all over the table with my eyes just thursted into theirs, something like don't u dear not pay attention or think this project is impossible. they ask me about the protection, about police, i say of course there will be local police involved assisting the whole thing, then they ask why don't i link it with a bigger carnival, ie notting hill, i jump that notting hill is big and rich and commercial and that it is not reprezenative for the young homeless, they need their own carnival, and notting hill also started like this, a bunch of people, and it was real when it started, it was a real celebration and all. then i go out. when i come back, i feel that they are a bit warmed by my enthusiastic presentation. then chrissie says the magic words: "do the pilot!". we won't give you the money for all the project, we think it is a great project, an ambitious project and you are definitely the one to do it, but you need to do the pilot first, really small scale, make it with 12-13 people and more intern, not really out there on the streets, and only during the day, so maybe on the streets near the hostel but not out there on the streets because it might end up with riots and scandal. and then u can make it global, phil said, if the pilot goes well, then you can take it off, make it fly, make it global. we are giving you not 30000pounds, but 5000pounds and you do the pilot. i feel such a big relief, because the big one was almost impossible to do, to coordinate it and gather the money in just 3-4 months until then, but... do the pilot, such beautiful words. i feel almost enlightened by this idea. i forget for a moment that the 5000 are non-real money. but even when i remember, it's ok, i can find 5000pounds until summer. so the class ends, the day goes by, i tell all my friends about all the printing adventures and about how i copyed the project backwards, and all. i laugh with rj and james about that. then the next day i try to find the wrong pages but i don't find them anymore. all the printed pages seem good. they seem in perfect order and perfect readable. and then i realize that you cannot COPY something backwards unless it's printed backwards, which was not the case. i take one page, turn it upside down. yes, here it goes. now it's backwards. turn it again- now it's normal. aha. i don't laugh anymore, i think a bit something like- "te-ai prajiiit!", ur brains are fryed, i mean, how can u think u copyed a paper bacwards when u were just keeping it upside down? how? so i say- if m-am prajit, i have to take more care, like double care with everything i do. if m-am prajit, then all my life from now on will be a spectacular adventure of discovering new ways of doing regular normal things, or "wrong" ways of doing "right" things, which in fact might be a great adventure and also fun. could never get bored in a world like that. i know that happened mostly because of being really tired and not because my brains are really that fryed, i'm sure they're not, but still...

today, i go with ioana to a presentation of the company station house opera, the performance making MA organizes these meetings in which various artists come to talk about their work, and we meet Julian Maynard Smith, a guy who talks about their work, which seems quite amazing, and this guy has a very personal fight- not fight, more of a quarrel, or a very personal issue with gravity. he is also very skinny, that i think his personal dream is to become immaterial. he has a few mintues when he speaks about the challenge to fly, that they tried expressing that in a show, and they found all those stupid ways - i mean how can u perform that, when there is no way, u just can't find the way of expressing flying because you just can't fly, something brings you back to the earth, and even if u go to peter pan for example, you see all these boys flying, but there are always those almost invisible strings, always, they're not flying, they're just hangin on those strings. and his issue was so seriuos, he was so upset about this matter of flying and the shit that is to be stuck in your own body and having to deal with that, that i almost saw him flying through the room like a demented baloon. well didn't actually see that, but it felt he was in so many places with his mind at the same time than the place where his body was.

error error

2009-01-11T07:13:00.000-08:00

back to london. humid air, straight to my lungs. my mother has bought me woolen things, because there's nothing like wool, she says. wool. second day, first shopping. sainsbury's. neat stuff. carrots, spaghetti, oranges. eggs. plenty of carrots, don't know exactly why. feel like a grown up, with my neat bags goind to the cash machines. i also have toilet paper, salad, serious stuff. basic stuff. stuff for living. i am an adult. i go to the cash register and i suddenly realize i have forgotten my pin number. i know the pin from my romanian card, which i used recently, but meanwhile, during the holidays, i forgot the other one, the english one. i tell the woman at the cash register- i might have forgotten my pin number. how can we solve that? she looks into my eyes and hands me the card-machine: introduce your pin, please. she is so serious, that i type a number which resembles in a way to the number i forgotten, but of course it isn't. i look at the woman, and repeat: i forgot my pin number. then we have to wait for 5 minutes for another woman, who comes to save the day. "what happened?", says the second one. "she forgot her pin number", says the first one. "can u save the transaction?". she saves the transaction and i go home to find the paper with my pin number. i am very thirsty and have a huge head ache from the night before, when i went out with james, back to our same old tequilla trips and whiskey for the road. i go into my room, drink a big glass of water, find the pin number, go back. i write it in my telephone- aka i send a message to myself, with my pin, and i also save my number, which i don't know by heart, under the name "me". and proudly go to the sainsbury's. i enter the store. somebody's wiping a huge amount of red wine from the floor. smells like shit. the floor is greasy and stinks. like when u see huge quantities of alcohol it makes you so sick, and it makes you wonder why do you drink that disgusting shit. i proudly introduce the pin into the machine, the woman looks at it, looks at me and says: "your card has been declined". i look at her with bambi eyes. "your- card-has- been -de-clined", says she. "by whom?", i say. "by the bank.". aha. she takes my bags back, puts them behind the desk again. "is there any other means you can pay for this"? "oh yes, of course, i will go home and take cash". i mean i have some cash, how else do you want me to pay for the fuckin carrots? i once more feel like an adult who has, of course, some cash at home. and although i didn't commit any crime, i feel so relieved when she smiles at me. i mean i'm glad she doesn't suspect me of stealing that card. which is in fact mine, so why do i even think about her suspecting that i stole my own card. so i go home, drink another big glass of water, go back to sainsbury's, pay with cash, come back. put everything into the frigde, talk with my flatmate jiaojiao and decide to go out next week, all the flat-members of the flat 13, go back to my room, work a bit more. then go out and get a vodafone voucher. a good warm robot voice tells me what to do to top up my phone. when i get to the "please introduce your 12 digits number" part, she says "if you make a mistake, don't worry. just press start to start again". i am grateful for this undestanding system, who allows you to makes mistakes. i introduce the 12 digits number, but the voice says: "i'm sorry, i didn't get that." i introduce the number again. she is sorry again. after trying to introduce it like 4 or 5 times, she says: "i'm sorry i'm having such a hard time getting your number. thanks for calling. goodbye!"- and a long beeeeep after that. hmm. ok. i put the voucher under the phone, on my desk, and go back to writing. maybe tomorrow she will get it. and yes, i just tried now one more time, and she got it. the payment was successful. i will try with the bank later. maybe the bank changed its mind on declinig my card. maybe. you never know. i wonder how "the bank" looks like. is she like and old frustrated woman who didn't get a fuck in more than 20 years? is there any chance to get the bank lighten up a bit? is she mad at people? will she commit suicide soon?

brixton with lizards

2008-12-21T19:13:00.000-08:00

surreal walk yesterday, through brixton. sunny, like spring. i am with a guy with huge cowboy leather boots and 2 plastic lizards in a pink purse. they are his lizards- a big one and a small one. we get out from a house in brixton- a party with his friends- his birthday.knew him from the behind the bars night last week- was doing a scatman performance. first thing i see when we get out from the house are 5 planes at the same time on the sky. you must know that you can see loads of planes on the sky everyday here. whenever you raise your eyes there's a plane. that's for sure. but now there were five, at the same time, through the clouds, different distances, different dimensions, and my eye caught them in the same instant flash. five. the closest one was like a toy that somebody was keeping hanged above us. white belly through the clouds. almost could reach the hand and touch it. zoom. then, the walk goes on in brixton. small houses, open air. lots of people. most of them looking down. i feel we walk on a thin plateau, max's boots keep our walking real, tok-tok-tok. everybody is looking down and all the people seem worried, they all seem to bear big burdens inside, except the children. get to the post office soo my scatman friend could get some money. a red post office. many people on the row. a kid looking into my eyes. smiles. shy. time passes. we get the money, i mean the guy gets the money, we walk off. incredible weather, spring. sun. it is beautiful. we find the station, get a big bottle of water and the bus. we sit without moving. the scatman's pants are full of ash. i look at my hands- remember we were all pouring purple glitter on our hands last night. no traces now. gloves look decent, to say the least. shoes dirty as hell. like marching through the swamp. max is worried about a friend. "i do the most retarded things when i'm drunk". tells me about the first party they went to, before coming to the place we met- says they were stripping on the tables and then he got worried about his friend who was working there, afraid she might loose her job after that. we drink water. "brixton and hackney were good places for squating", he says. "but the police came and began cleaning everything up." the bus floats through the sunny city. so what're your plans for today? "i guess i will take my friend shopping, i say. "or maybe just sleep the day off- that's more close to the truth." "i will do the same, he says. sleep all day." we are peaceful and cold and tranquilized. the light of the day is flowing around us. i feel the world with light is less mysterious and more brutal, seeing things in full shape is a bit too much, it amplifies them. but the light has someting magical and healing. just as the big bottle of cold water. i get off at holborn, get a bit messy with my directions, manage to find a way then get to elephant and castle, where the bus apparently terminates. i have to get down and take another one. but first get some money from a bank machine and top up my oyster card. and buy me some food. so i get to visit all the entries and exits of the elephant and castle stations to get my things sorted out. it is a round station. people sell things in a market who is one level below, and some scattered groups of young people with microphones sing about jesus christ and eternal salvation one floor above. they seem like some party people with the wrong lyrics. i try to get some food. i stare at some shelf with undefined jamaican or something like that. i don't know. i don't care. everything is overwhelming. just want to get to my bed. i take some spinach pie and try to find my way without looking around. i feel like i'm crossing through hell- the place and the people seem evil, grey and schizophrenic. try to not look around, but bang! one of the singers catches my eye and in a second he's near me. didn't even got to take a bite from my spinach pie. "do you believe in jesus"? he says full of hope, thrusting his eyes into mine. "well, yes, i mean not exactly like that, i mean not exactly if you put it like that, but..." i try to mumble. he takes me by the arm "then if you believe in jesus, why don't you give your life to him now? " he says, like the next thing possible would have been me stabbing myself in the middle of elephant and castle and singing in a mystical orgasm about my sacrifice for jesus. i look at him, i'm like- you are kind of radical, man, but he seems to be convinced that he is saving my life by telling me all these, that i will die if i don't give my life to jesus, and i'm more and more like- hey man who even brought such grave things like life and death into this pleasant conversation we were having?, and when he is basically telling me that if i'm walking away i will die soon, i shake his hand firmly and say goodbye. nice talking to you!! he shouts, and all his mates singing and applausing and praising the lord, oh, man, i manage to get myself a big orangejuice can and jump into a bus.then head home, to the darkness of my sleeping duvet.

fiona, leon and the married guy

2008-12-18T08:05:00.000-08:00

last week, shoreditch. james goes home and me and gabi sandu are still at the party. after the bouncers get everybody out, we run on the street randomly after after a guy to ask where's the next party. the guy turns back and is like- you want another party? come with me.his name is leon. leon is spanish and is very happy that we came with him. talks about his friends that were supposed to go with him but left him alone. talks about the first time he came out- he told his friends that he is gay, and everybody was like- no shit! after you slept with all of us, now you decided to make it official?? we laugh. leon takes us to another bar, who was opening that night. it's 4 o'clock and it's the only place opened. not many people inside, we take some drinks, dance a bit, a tall guy follows me like i'm the squirrel of his dream or something like that- he takes me up in the air and makes those kind of facial expressions about love and devotion, i escape, the bar closes, we go. there's leon, fiona, and a fat sad guy. fiona is blonde, short hair, glasses. nice and cerebral. nobody knew eachother from before except me and gabi. the married guy wants to take me home. he is sad. he says it's his birthday, he is 36. i am like- why don't you go home? he's like- oh, if you only knew what's home!! a wife and 2 kids. i am like- well, it's sounds like you have a family. isn't that nice? "it's hell", he says. "i'm very sad. come home with me." i tell him that i don't wanna, and he is like- "but i like you! it's my birthday. i'm sad." i give him the family speeches, think about your kids and all the rest. he doesn't understand shit. then i go to walk with leon, who's much more positive. leon tells me about the flower market which is close to brick lane, and about how i should try to go there on pills- it blows your head, man!! he's like- imagine a street FULL of flowers?!??! and you are just.... WOW. we finally get to the bus station, we stop. the sad fat married guy levitates around us. gabi and leona are cerebrally talking. leon explains me about the flowers, and then he suddenly looks up and sees the full moon- and he is- NOOOO, it's full moon. he hits the wall. everytime it's full moon it messes me up. i tell him i know, and he almost starts crying. you don't understand, it really messes me up, i can't sleep, i become nervous, i don't know what's with me... he looks beautiful, almost crying in the moonlight of the full moon. the sad married guy is almost disgusted with this show. i hold leon's hand and say it will be ok. we gloss our lips with lip gloss. now we are beautiful. the bus comes. me and gabi run inside, the bus driver looks at me- i have a beer in my hand. i throw the beer to leon and the bus doors close. the married guy waves sadly, as the bus goes by.

beautiful marek

2008-12-18T07:38:00.000-08:00

found a passport on the streets some days ago. a czech passport- inside, the picture of a beautiful boy named marek. i was secretly hoping i will find him at the czech embassy and that he will love me forever because i saved his life. so i took the passport at the czech emb, which is somewhere near notting hill. 2 blonde guys in front of the door, looking at the speaker. i ask them what's the main entrance, they show me the door in front of them. the door opens, and a huge guy, 3 sizes me looks at me from up and asks what do i want. "i found a passport", i say. "on the street". oh, says the huge guy and makes me a sign to go in. i go in, the door closes. the 2 blonde guys remain outside. they look at me with hatred. the bodyguard, who seems a quarter afro-american, a quarter latin blood, and the rest of 2 quarters the human version od moby dick, looks at me, smiles and asks: "ce faci?". oh, you know romanian... i say. and answer- "bine". he smiles back. he knows: "bine", "foarte bine", "noapte buna", "la revedere". while waiting for the clerk guy at the office to finish his appointment, we talk more. "i love manele", he says. i laugh. he tells me he worked at a romanian restaurant - or a restaurant ran by romanians, i don't understand, and that they were always playing manele. romanians do a lot of bad things in europe, he says. and then- i had a girlfriend who was romanian. he smiles again. aha, i say, so that's hoe you know romanian. yes, he nods his head. i wonder how his girlfriend looked like. i recap the words he knows, which can be in fact the essence of their relationship: bine, foarte bine, noapte buna, la revedere. (good, very good, good night, good bye). then he looks at me and says- "foarte bine"!(very good) and he winks at the passport. many poeple would do all sprts of crazy things with a found passport. and then, to the office clerk, who is now looking at us: this nice lady found a passport. i give the passport in, the guy opens it, and looks at the picture- "my goodness", he says. i have the impression that's a reaction to marek's beauty. then he recovers from his amazement and says - it is still valid. then he smiles at me, a very nice guy, and says- thank you. i'm sure he will be very happy when he finds it. on my way out, moby dick waves his hand and says: "la revedere"! I pass the 2 blonde guys who definitely hate me for going in and out just like that, and head on to buy christmas presents.

milk

2008-12-17T20:30:00.000-08:00

harvey milk.beautiful.

spend a lot

2008-12-17T12:13:00.000-08:00

what a mess what a mess

2008-12-16T18:14:00.000-08:00

my desk. benylin chesty coughs. biologie manual pentru clasa a XIa. my cup with the little prince from belgrade. lemsip max for cold&flu. nivea. lime natural strenghts lime juice. nescafe. bubblz superbubbles.aspirin plus c. royal court wig out ticket. rabiesbabies sticker. sainsbury's british 8 peppered ham slices. the camera. a lighter. a mess.
blocked in front of this computer. trying to deal with your anger. ten ways of dealing with anger. take a walk. breathe. walk away. do some sports. run in the park. listen to music. watch tv. get some drugs. get drunk. go dance.
nurofen drajeuri.
2 months.
the first place i ever went to when i got here was embankment. i remembered walking there with you.
i don't understand shit about love anymore. i don't get it. it's a mess. it's a huge mess. feeling down and alone and constantly thinking that you are there somewhere and feeling better at the thought that i know you love me so this is supposed to make me happy and protect me. when in fact all i feel is that i constantly miss you and that i always have to fight with everything to make it work, and i get pissed when anybody else tries to mess with my feelings, acting like a hysterical freak if i feel like "the danger" of caring about somebody else like they are in fact enemies or they will turn up to be at some point all i cannot face is the anger of not having you here with me, the anger when i read your answer to my mail, the anger that i was so happy with you that i could do anything, the anger that once i've found that person that makes me fuckin dance when i walk down a street, that person that is so perfectly fit for me and i love, i have to understand and deal with the fact that we cannot be together. a mess. this is a mess. i've been trying to play brave but i am not brave i am a mess, i am emotionally fryed. i don't know what people are supposed to do when they break up like this. keep the good memories? promise promises like you did? is that what makes the breaking up easier? cry? play a song? watch a movie? break a glass? write a play? write something beautiful and tragic that makes you forget the first feeling of pain by replacing it with the joy of gaining a good piece of literature like all writers do?smth like- " useful experiences that enrich your life and talent"? another intense experience? is that it? put the blame on the other? take the blame on you, like you did, though you are not right and it is NOT entirely your fault? take a shower? laugh at yourself for beeing such a drama queen? make a photoshop colage with pictures of you and me and hearts and sunny skies?

london experience blog- dealing with loss. insomnia. dealing with your own need for love. dealing with going to clubs and kissing with guys and girls and playing cool just until the bouncers get us out, walking in cold and sleeping the next day off, the familiar shit you do so well. the party. the hangover. the cleaning up. the library. the conspects. the plans. the mistakes. the little laziness-es. the recovery. the same shit as always. pretending it never happened to me that i was so happy with you. oh i'm such a strong independent party girl. live the moment. erase your feelings. fuck all that. i feel i'm transforming into a cyborg. when i'll be back in ro i'll have the face and sould of the perfect fit for the 2010 robot. right? the training. the change. the perfection. come back a winner and do something for your country. there's something not workin in this paradigm. everybody wants you to be the winner. you also want to win - at least over your emotions for starters. but what if you choose honesty for example instead of all this constant training for winning that the world imposes upon you? what if you make that switch and get to be a weak honest lonely confused looser? is honesty more precious than this constant striving to win?

The Opening of the Offensive of Generosity

2008-12-13T08:18:00.001-08:00

Opening

OFFENSIVE OF GENEROSITY

Open source
Act!

Offensive

Organized

Generous

If:
1. You work with a community.
2. You document and archive.
3. You share (creative education workshops).
4. The artistic product is only a consequence of the first three steps (active-creative / community creation).

EVERYBODY CAN COMMUNITY-CREATE(has the right, the freedom, the responsibility).

WE WORK TOGETHER. WE BUILD TOGETHER A NETWORK FOR EXCHANGING IDEAS, METHODS, WORKING TOOLS, RESOURCES.

WE RECOGNIZE EACHOTHER USING THIS ICON:

WE LET EACH OTHER KNOW EVERY TIME WE TAKE ACTION:

ofensivagenerozitatii@yahoo.com
http://www.ofensivagenerozitatii.blogspot.com/

FIRST COMMUNITY ACTION TOGETHER: WE PASS THIS ON.

buy less live more

2008-12-13T07:56:00.000-08:00

(excerpts from the book Design Anarchy, by Kalle Lasn)

rabies babies

2008-12-13T06:13:00.000-08:00

...meet the rabies babies.

saw them at the waterloo squat last night. finally some familiar fresh air in there. felt like home in a way. big squat room at the old buddhist centre, a few people, mulled wine and the first time ever somebody gave me here tequilla with orange and cinnamon- it is the way i usually drink it at home, but here i had to obey 2 the salt and lemon rules. and these crazy girls, the rabies babies, which i loved, with the smashing hit of the evening- i fought the floor and the floor won. then there was victor menace, "The original sound of Ninja Folk! A fusion of fast paced all-original gypsy and classical melodies, laced with occasional cock-rock moments, swing and reggae grooves, and a sprinkling of tourette's induced expletives." - as they describe themselves on their myspace page. a fire outside, dark alleys and a fence, a dog, and the same old feeling of "who gets the cigarretes"? i never asked for cigarettes to people on the street or in a club here, would never even consider doing that, but last night there was a bit of thet feeling- oh, we have no more ciggarettes? don't worry, I'll get some. hahaha.

Xmas present

2008-12-10T19:10:00.000-08:00

my christmas present for rj:

... and my christmas present for james:

:-).

xxx.

may love float upon us all

like a smokey dozen of hazelnut seahorses and

childsize jolly sperms,

happy birthday for all the unbirthday parties

and merry photoshoping from now on too, gentlemen.

alien nation

2008-12-07T14:04:00.000-08:00

"But while both humanization and dehumanization are real alternatives, only the first is the people's vocation. This vocation is constantly negated, yet it is still affirmed by that very negation. It is thwarted by injustice, exploitation, oppresion, and the violence of the oppressors.
[]
Dehumanization, which marks not only those whose humanity has been stolen, but also (though in a different way) those who have stolen it, is a distortion of the vocation of becoming fully human. "
(P. Freire, Pedagogy of the oppressed)

the best part of the alienation comes when people come to the situation when they turn one against the other when really they are on the same side and they are fighting for the same things. it's another one of the small petty victories of dehumanization and despair. why not have a multitude of frustrated lonely and angry people who don't want to speak to eachother instead of a big group of people who know what they want and can rely on eachother? because the group could be a threat. many lonely persons are more likely to be dominated and fooled. so come on barbie let's go party. resident evil.

ilie ghiurluc

2008-12-06T08:21:00.000-08:00

this is my grandfather, ilie, from satul beciu. romania. he passed away today, 9 AM. he was a strong beautiful wise and quiet man. a house builder. in his last 7 days, all the people from his village came to pay him the last visit, to say goodbye and sorry for all the fights they had during life. i guess that's the way it should be. god bless him.

all that shit

2008-12-04T19:01:00.000-08:00

do you have a lighter? I'm afraid i don't. oh, you are afraid. what are you afraid of? and what are you sorry about? and why don't you trust people? and why do you pretend you care when all you want is just to get rid of another night and check it in your little inside-my-head-toy-box you carry on like bombs inside your head? i really hope, for your sake, that that bomb will go off at some point. i really hope it will fucking blow all your politeness away and help you at least try to find something real. something that is good for you. something you really want. i'm so tired of all the rambling and giggling and "oh, that's so embarrasing", and "oh, I'm so glad you're not a lesbian..." and of "ah, that's fantastic!" and of that "you allright?". today i met a guy in the bus, i was coming home late and he was like- i think that it is very sad that english people act that way. it is a sad thing. yes. i think it's very sad. and i fuckin need a B52, right now, with my friends. i am nervous, i am frustrated, i don't get it.oh, that's so lovely of you. oh, that's so great. oh, i really think you are cute. oh, no shit. oh, i'm sorry. oh, i'm so drunk. oh, that's so embarrasing.

i know one thing: i am so lucky that i met some people here who just help me get through this.

ecstasy in the E.U.

2008-11-28T06:39:00.000-08:00

last night i was telling rj and james about my first ecstasy ever- and i realized that it was when romania entered in E.U.- 2 years ago, New Years Eve, a bunch of friends, just getting out of the house, all the people on the streets happy, marching towards Piata Universitatii, the sky full of fireworks; sorin put some huge headphones on my head, and played Oxia- Domino, and I remember the exact image of us opening the fence door from lala's courtyard and going out on the street, I was like all the time holding hands tight with sorin and andrei, and then bogdan went in front of the group, and he started singing "allons enfants de la patrieeeeee/le jour de gloire est arriveeeee", and we were all following and singing, and I also remember very clear that there were like tons of people flooding the streets, all going to piata universitatii, happy, and fireworks covering all the sky. i never realized what a great memory that is. and I never made the connection btw the first x and Romania entering E.U. haha.

;

2008-11-24T19:53:00.000-08:00

faceshield

2008-11-23T09:49:00.000-08:00

the dead dancing squirrels

2008-11-22T07:44:00.000-08:00

bit and bits. looking at all the shops and feeling like shit. like how can you put so much money in it just to SELL things? thinking about why do I feel lonely. and then thinking about humanity again, as in being human, as in the warmth of being human, of humans being human one with another. thinking about the "succeedin' in life" archetype that has been implanted in our brains like before you could even make a decision. the stairs of success, and all that talk about doing something in your life, and investing in your future, and developing the best out of you. doing your best to succeed in life. and about how people interact- like the instinct to conquer the others, to be seen, or at least to fit. to prove that you are as well good and maybe even better than the others. the need to conquer. the need to possess. as in atention, objects, people. the competition. the rewards. the power games. the money. the name. the work. the pride. "i'm proud to be who I am". the little moment of hesitation when u meet somebody so different that you consider him dangerous by default and you'd rather not speak to him. thinking about what you see everyday on the streets, and the ingorance training you developed with yourself in order to survive. because we see tons of shit everyday, and we just have to pass by.

i mean, i see stuffed squirrels in a shop window, dancing around a tiny crocodile with its mouth full open:

or a mannequin with a stuffed fox in a leash,

or fairytale dummies in fairytales settings, surrounded by bottles of wine and candies- because the fairytale sells.

and on and on, all kinds of things that you just train yourself not to see anymore. not to mention the homeless people. well there's a big no no. there is the maximum of our alienation. like your're on the streets, havin fun, walking to the club, and suddenly you see these guys lying on their cardboards, in their sleep sacks, looking at you- or just smoking a cigarette, or just sleeping, or reading a newspaper. and you have to move on, and have fun. i mean, what can you do, right? it makes you sad, but what can you do? so you just train yourself to ignore one more time. it's just what you have to work with. remember that scene in hedwig and the angry inch, when hedwig's lover finds the annoying inch of flesh between hedwig's legs? that inch of flesh left from the sex-change operation hedwig was more of less forced to do? the boyfriend says, in horror: "what's this?"- and hedwig says: "well, this is what i have to work with."

sometimes all those people are like that inch of flesh- but nobody wants to work with that.

anyway, as I said, I was thinking about all these things and then found 2 books. one of them is called "Design anarchy", by kalle lasn. the other is called "pedagogy of the oppressed", by paulo freire. i will talk more about the latter, because i seriously think that EVERYBODY should read that book. it was forbidden at some point, and people used to go to jail in brasil for reading that. because it is about humanity- about what's human in humans. and we don't want to go there, right? and about dialogue, as in true dialogue between equal human beings who respect eachother and do not want to possess eachother. and we definitely don't want to go THERE, right? and about communion as opposed to everyday's alienation. and about transforming the world as a natural consequence of thinking. and we DEFINITELY refuse to go there. right?

2008-11-13T17:11:00.000-08:00

soo many informations. soo many tastes. spend my day kissing these guys:
and found out that, if i had known the basic things that a first aid training teaches you, maybe my grandmother wouldn't have died suffocated in my arms. poor poor romanian girls's bad luck, isn't that ironic? sometimes you just don't HAVE THE INFORMATION. i was so fucking angry- no even angry, but astonished, while somebody was explaining us what you should do in case that the person is not breathing anymore... and I JUST DIDN'T HAVE THAT INFORMATION. what to do in case that person's not breathing anymore. is that so hard to make a fuckin first aid training in schools, or something like that? make the information go around? ok. so i kissed those guys and made their chests go up and down, their plastic chests.

then walked, through the london scraps. found out about congo. found out about sorrow. found out about god. found out about the public toilets. found out about saudade. found out about the transparent offices and houses. about walls of concrete. about hundreds of people passing by and looking down. about the boats on thames. about laughter. about ioana. about people. about chris james. about lager. about a concert. about about orlando harrison. seems like an ordinary day, another one.

the jesus, the shit and the romanians

2008-11-12T04:18:00.000-08:00

mm, that girl just gave me a romanian kiss

2008-11-12T04:14:00.000-08:00

1.	hmm, wow. look what i just copypasted from the urban dictionary : Romanian Kiss	22 up, 10 down
	When someone bites someone else's neck, from the fact that the "original" Dracula was from Romania (NOT Transylvania). Guy #1: "man, that girl just gave me a romanian kiss!" Guy #2: "Ouch!" french kiss vampire dracula romania bite by Blargman Mar 28, 2007 share this add comment

apple juice

2008-11-09T14:49:00.000-08:00

when u come up from dean house, and see the row of houses, the light is always in a way strange and psychedelic. a sort of artificial glow from up above on the open road and to the horizont. today- all the light in london was psy. and no substances, cross my heart, just one apple in the morning (as in one real A-P-P-L-E- that is for some friends who think that when i say that i saw a swan on the sea it should mean something a whole lot different that a swan on the sea, and whom - the friends i mean- i miss very much). at 4:30 today the whole sky was violet. the national theatre is violet and blue. red lights float on thames near the greenwhich pier, near an almost fluorescent green strange tower who looks like a mosque.

when i come up from dean house, i see a candyland picture:

it always looks like fairytales, like in the books when the houses were made of cardboard and sweets.

not to mention the recycle bins:

there's a surreal feeling everywhere.

Please Arrest me for my own good and the continued security of the nation

2008-11-06T15:43:00.000-08:00

"Hundreds of people everyday pack onto the underground, quite possibly oblivious to the realities of the law, quite possibly flagrantly contravening it, with what they are reading, wearing, listening to, or thinking. CSG were there to make sure the tube passengers don’t break any rules.

[...]

Our agents handed out information about their rights and details of how citizens could be displaying political opinions about their person, with deliberately dangerous allegiences or through an accident of ‘fashion’.

[...]

Our mission was timely, as we discovered many people who had never even heard of this wonderful government directive. Oddly, some seemed to be shocked at this, and rather worryingly started to question whether what they are reading, listening to or thinking, should be any concern of the government. We were pleased, however, to see just how many people submitted to our checks with the utmost supportiveness. Truly, the majority of the sensible British people are now so scared of the threats all around us, they know to be obedient, and to abide the law, however intrusive and apparently over the top it might be."

(excerpts from spacehijackers site )

hahaha.
these guys are great.

ah those shoes

2008-11-06T05:39:00.000-08:00

(the shoes scene from trash)

con doom

2008-11-05T17:09:00.000-08:00

protection. security measure. prevention. safety. security. CCTV. data protection. data surveillance. decent taste. good manners. proper. safe distance. avoid. prevent. keep safe.

"the same pleasure and a great smile, with no risks at all": british people are condom-people. not as in people who use condoms, but as in people who act like condoms. with the meaning mentioned above. same pleasure, no risks. no openness, but great careful attention and total exquisite manners. no humanity, but humanity with a security belt- first protect yourself from pottential harm, and then think about the others. anything might be or cause a potential harm. so you have to protect yourself from anything, and keep on smiling. nothing can stop you being completely happy and attentive as long as you have a really good and longlasting protection.

protect me from what i want- isn't that a london-based band? placebo, right:-)?

or is it a bit too much paranoia?

and no wonder sex pistols were born here in condom-land. ha. what other land could bring so much anger and rejection up?

2008-11-03T19:15:00.000-08:00

trash, andy warhol, around 22 or 21 or whatever, after cutting my finger with the knife trying to open a can with pickled bamboos inside or smth like that, before asking rj to bring some bandages but there weren't any, so i just got stuck with some kitchen towels. in the morning there was a fire alarm. it went off because somebody was cooking with the door open, so we just had to get out from our rooms and sit in front of the halls for like 7 minutes until somebody came to check if it's a fire and although we all knew there wasn't any fire, nobody could enter the building until the security guy came. then watching trash as I've told you, which is a really great movie. totally forgot about my finger while watching it. and it was very strange that it was the only possible activity if i wanted to forget about the blood dripping from my finger and the pain was watching this movie.
so anytime you feel physical or any kind of pain, you can watch this.
and remember... don't go for the needle, boys and girls. go for the trash. from flat 13 appC, transmission over. oh, and by the way, there was a japanese bbc soap filmed right here, at 13. actually it's not a soap, but it sounds like a tourist soft porn movie with the wrong images.
link2movie
you can see rj, stella and JoJo, my flatmates, in the kitchen at some point. i wonder what the girl's doing with the old guy in the first part... and i really liked the white angelic light that was bathing the images from london and from our kitchen. it seems a dream come true. so, once again, don't go for the needle, boys and girls... go for the dream.
13 entertaiment... presents-

amanda lepore

2008-11-01T18:38:00.000-07:00

The child of a chemical engineer father (Italian-American) and a schizophrenic mother (German-American), Lepore was born as a male in Cedar Grove, New Jersey. At the age of 11, Lepore professed a desire to have a sex change operation after seeing a TV show on the subject. Unable to tolerate dressing as a boy, Lepore made the decision to go to school dressed as a girl, which concerned her guidance counselor; Amanda was not allowed to attend school as a female, so she received a tutor at home. At the age of 15, she began designing costumes for dancers at a local strip club. During this time, she received hormones from an underage transsexual friend who accepted outfits as payment. After her body developed breasts, her tutor recommended a psychiatrist. Lepore was diagnosed as a transsexual. The psychiatrist informed her parents and helped in getting the hormones legally.^[9]

^(source)

now she is around 60 years old:

and she's plastic. basically. she has had so many operations and in-your-face three times lips and breasts, that she is organic-self-aware-plastic.

more on amanda

&

the club kids

short quiz

2008-11-01T15:43:00.000-07:00

whooo's da sexyest boy in da neighbourhood? bob dylan on the creme cafe wall.

fake blood

2008-10-31T20:19:00.000-07:00

lipstick.group work:let's have fun on ha lo w e e n. hallo ween. the butterflyish guys and the wanna-get-wasted-and-fucked-right-here-girls. hmm... is there something wrong with this picture? ok, so we get to a queue, the bodyguards act like prison guards- u have to be a student! u have to stay in line! one goes out, one goes in! (I forgot to tell you- this was a visit at the haloween party at student's union). all the people from the queue outside have the same makeup: blood. It's a mainly blood party. blood on the chin, blood on the cheeks, blood on almost everything. that's about it. There's a girl-dinozaur really shy inside, gently smiling around as ioana takes picuters. I don't know if she also wants a picture or she's just like that. the girl-dinozaur seems nice. and lonely, in her dinozaur outfit.

when you get a drink you have to wait like 30 minutes at least and smash yourself among the other bodies. there's a nice marilyn- manson- in- misery-guy-but- with- a- nice- smile at the bar. and everybody is just glad to have somebody takin pictures of them. they are proud. we meet superman. and the strumphs. (strumphs? is that correct? the strumphs?). everybody looks around to see who sees them. they act like I'm havin so much fun- I'm fun, and I'm funny, and I'm into it, I'm soo groovy and so into it... can u see? i would so much like to see that you see ME. or ME! or ME!

u can't get drunk because the drinks are too expensive, and you can't steal drinks because all the people drink everything until the last bit. because of course it's expensive. so floating in this I would like to get wasted, in fact I'm so willing to get wasted, but I can't afford it, but I'm here at the student's union, so it's gonna be sooo much fun, everybody's kind of full of enthusiasm in faking it. to be honest, at the beginning I was looking around amazed that they are taking this haloween thing so seriously. i mean- they really worked hard on that make-up. and i'm a bit superior, like- ok, that's lame.all the blood thing and shit. after that, i think that they are just young and having fun and there's nothing wrong in that. after that I begin to think like- those people really have no problems. then i was like- ok maybe I just come from a different background. maybe my childhood was different. I would never wear that shit, not even when i was 18. but maybe that's just because I'm a bit sour? and again- maybe just because my childhood was different? and the context and all? maybe it's ok to spend all that time in doing this:

I never went to a halloweeen party before, and wouldn't have imagined that I could go to one- except that here you just wanna see everything and take it as it comes. do it like they do it on discovery channel. i never saw santa claus in a red suit and with a beard coming to my house- and in fact I'm glad I didn't. to me it was more honest and poetic- santa claus was a mystery, until i discovered that my parents were santa claus, which was a big step in my growing up. and a honest one. they never pretended to be someone they are not.

... and the party ends at 3 o'clock, and all the bloody strumphs go home. quietly. is there something wrong with this picture? or do i just come from a different background? actually, there's no good and bad, no right and wrong. it's just fake blood, that's all.

benefits and bunnies

2008-10-30T09:17:00.000-07:00

I went to centrepoint today. gonna start as soon as i have all my papers ready. it's a big place, biggest cp hall in london- 80 residents. had a talk with lindsay, whom I'm gonna assist as far as I know. lindsay's great and the place is great and I can't wait to get started. some facts about the people there: there are 40 boys and 40 girls, the average age is 18 to 25. it's a 2 years residence. the accom fees are paid by the government as a benefit, until they find a full time job. so when they find a full time job they have to look for renting in the private sector, or pay the accomodation fees at centrepoint (meaning 120 pounds/week).when they have the benefit, they have to pay 11 pounds a week to the halls. they also have 45 punds per week from the government. this benefit is like a support for the period in which you are looking for a job- which means you have to prove that you are looking for a job, and have job interviews and so on. from this 45 pounds a week, you pay 11 pounds to the halls, which leaves 34 pounds per week. the transport for a week is usually 10 pounds, so that leaves 24 pounds for a week... which is acually not much at all. but anyways, that's the benefit system, and it's ok that it exists. all these 80 residents have different stories- some of them just couldn't get along with their parents anymore, some of them were living in too small places, some of them just don't have parents. there are tons of reasons that can make you become homeless. which is a very radical word, similar in a way to "aurolac" in my country, but people seem to use it- so i guess it's not offending. anyways, so for a homeless kid, life seems to be like that: you go through care until 16 years old- which means that the government provides you a place to live and money and food and all, and then when you are 16 the care system cannot take care of you anymore, so you go to halls and homes and hostels like centrepoint. and when you have the right age to work, and when the government decides that you are able to work (which means that you pass some tests , I guess), you start looking for a job and you get the benefit until you find a full time job, which means that you are able to live by yourself, which means that usually you move from the halls and become an adult.lindsay told me that everybody's looking for a job, but there are a few people who don't really want to find a full time job, because, in essence, that would mean that they have to leave and become adults. there also some people who have full time jobs and don't want to leave the halls, so they pay the accomodation fee by theirselves, although in the private sector it would be much cheaper. (you can find a rent with 90 pounds per week in the private sector, whilst in centrepoint you have to pay 120 pounds per week.)

other news:

- I have a new teapot:

- have a new toy:

- my lava lamp is finally working

- my hair is growing:

--and I saw a bunny smoking hookah (narghilea) today:

flat 13

2008-10-29T11:46:00.000-07:00

conversation with RJ, my flatmate:
R:i like your music, i heard it when I was going to the kitchen.
V:Oh, I wanted to ask you something: do you hear my alarm clock in the morning? coz i'm that kind of a... you know... snoozing person. and I was wondering if you hear my alarm in the morning... coz sometimes i snooze like for an hour...
R: oh, i'm a snoozer too. but I don't hear your alarm.
V: Oh, good.
R: Do you hear my alarm?
V: No, I don't hear your alarm.
R: I don't hear your alarm because anyway usually I have music all the time in my room, and you know... But do you hear my music?
V:No, I have music all the time in my room, too. Do you hear my music?
R: No, I don't hear your music. That's good that you don't hear my music, coz I was wondering if you hear my music , because sometimes I heard my music from the hall when I was coming from the kitchen.
V:No, I don't hear your music. I aslo hear my music through the door. I guess you can hear it through the door but not through the wall.
R:Yeah.
V:Yeah.

the origin of love

2008-10-29T03:42:00.000-07:00

super keen

2008-10-27T14:31:00.000-07:00

so here it goes- very determined to get to centrepoint today. tell them i wanna do volunteering and that here I am, what should I start with?

so i go to school, solve my problems there. fill in the forms for a new bank account and ask the forms for a hardship scholarship, which says that if my parents gain less than 39305 pounds, the school's gonna cut 20% off my accomodation fees. haha. my mother earns 400 pounds a month, and my father as well. the school should give me a chocolate too. and buy me a frying pan.

ok. so I solve my money-ish problems, and head to a place named aldgate, which I found on the map, and which is nearby Central House, 25 Camperdown Street , where centrepoint is. so here I go, my headphones in my ears, change at Elephant&Castle and take the 100 bus to aldgate. the bus goes, daedelus sings, i look on the window, and suddenly I find myself at the end of the line. "last station, miss", shouts the driver. I go to him. "what about aldgate?" "we passed aldgate long time ago. you shouldn't listen to music when you don't know where u'r going", says the driver and smiles. it sounds like a more profound advise than it really is, like a zen-thing- "you shouldn't listen to music when you don't know where you're going, my daughter, or your soul will be lost in the darkness".

ok, I go down, near the bus who is supposed to go first from the station. it has the doors closed, and the driver is makin crossword games. it's cold. i walk in front of the bus. he sees me. he looks at me, he looks at the doors. he looks at the crosswords game. he goes back to his crosswords. i start to walk closer, acting like i'm trembling. he seems like a good old guy, but the fuckin game got his brains so bad that he just can't quit. he looks at me one more time. i look at him. he looks at the game. i'm like- what the fuck man, can't you just open the doors? finally, the bus from behind opens the doors so i get in. i still have my headphones and still listen to music, but this time I am paying way more attention to the lady who announces the stations.

so i reach aldgate, and begin the search for 25 Camperdown Street. everything's a mess, the whole place is a building site. the area seems bussiness-ish, but lots of streets under construction. i finally find my way to whitechapel street, which will lead me to braham street, which will lead me to camperdown. i walk on whitechapel and try to guess if it's ok to make a left or not, 'cause there are no street-signs. but I say, let's give it a try, so a make a left. i walk down the street, looking after a street sign. a man comes from behind and asks "everything allright?". that's how people ask here. all the time. "are u ok?"/ "everything allright, miss?"- at first you feel like it's something wrong with you, or that you look "non-ok", but after that you realize it's a way of expressing their helpfullness in case you have a question, or just a way of saying hi. so the man asks "everything allright?", I say yes I'm cool and just when he turns away and I look after him- here it is!!! 25 camperdown street. hurray.

i go, find Central House, which is a biiig bussiness building, and go to the door. stop in front of the door. there is a small thing for cards, and a sign which says that access is allowed only if you have a pass-card. i look through the door, at the reception, which seems like kilometers away- there's a lady, who looks into her computer. not the communicative type. she definitely wouldn't open the door for me, not even if I fainted or something. ok. fuck it. so I came all the way just to come back and send an email to centrepoint. I wonder why didn't I do it in the first place. I don't know. just wanted to see the place. and then I look at the door one more time- there's a man in blue, washing the windows. he seem spanish. i wave at him. make signs to the door. he looks at me, waves back. i make signs like- can you please open the door? i don't have the card!! he opens the door, i feel like giving him a big hug. i go inside quickly, go to the reception, sign, and then go to the 5th floor, to centrepoint's main office.

a huuuge rooms with lots of computers - "give young homeless people a future" written on the walls. i look at everything, i feel dizzy. it's like at least 50 people I think, working at their computers, all looks like the most modern and up-dated bussiness centre in romania, but it's not for bussiness. it's for the homeless kids from the city.

then the guy from the volunteering service comes, we go to a room, and talk. he seems surprised that i showed up like that, says that he was about to send the email back to all the people who wrote their named on the volunteering mailing lists, and that they're about 80, but I came ahead of everybody. we talk and decide that maybe wednesday and thursday i'll have an interview in a centre closer to new cross, after I fill in the volunteering form. "you really jumped the gun,", he says, still looking a bit amazed by me popping up there just like that. "that means you're keen." keen? i'm mega-ultra-keen. i'm super-keen on starting this. ok. so i head to the door, and pass by some people who smile at me so warm, that i suddenly remember the change of my haircut, aka that i have no hair now, and I realize that i look a bit like a young homeless kid. i smile back and go to the elevator. jump in the elevator so it closes the doors. and then back home. ha!!

dalai lama knows da shit

2008-10-26T18:59:00.000-07:00

ok, so... first of all, you walk up and down the city, first in camden town, buy some gloves, then in notting hill, search for a place which you don't find, then back to new cross, eat some thai food, have a chat, have a thai beer, have a jasmine tea, then come home and...

get ready for a new week.

sometimes hair is too much to take. you play with it, you dye it, you cut it, you try to make it like "you", you get angry with it, you forget about it, you complain about it, you caress it. and let me tell you, it's so good when you just shave it. dalai lama knows the shit, i tell you.

ps- thanks ioana, u know da shit too. :-).

ulrich seidl

2008-10-25T15:45:00.001-07:00

tag storm

2008-10-24T13:37:00.000-07:00

the great depression

Unity Theatre

agit prop

The big Issue

Evicted

Erwin Piscator

Che Guevara

F. D. Roosevelt

Churchill

Centrepoint

The Foyer Federation

DGASPC

department of oscillations

the New Deal

the Federal Theatre Project

the Living Newspaper

Diego Rivera

Social Security

Eleanor

(images from-FTP productions)

the shunt queen

2008-10-24T03:30:00.000-07:00

check out this beauty:

she's a five meter dancin queen, walking around in the shunt lounge. she has a plastic body and a neon heart, and she gave birth to a small blue plastic baby, with 2 blue big eyes.

and about the shunt lounge...

"Shunt is a collective of 10 artists creating large-scale performance events in unexpected, abandoned or derelict buildings throughout London. Their current home is a sprawling labyrinth of railway arches under London bridge station: a bonded wine vault for the last 100 years - now an independent republic with diplomatic immunity and a vast private army. This was the site of shunt's last two productions (Tropicana and Amato Saltone) and will also host the shunt lounge from September 2006."

more about Shunt

go fuck what cho mama say, imma vote obama way!

2008-10-23T06:48:00.000-07:00

... featuring daedelusdarling.

G-A-Y

2008-10-22T06:59:00.000-07:00

take care with that, it might not come off tomorrow, said a friend last night, when the guys from the G-A-Y club put the stamp on my hand. i didn't see a problem with that. unfortunately, the G didn't get on my hand. and, anyway, what's the problem with being G-A-Y?my gayness is that I'm smiling all day long on the streets, so one can say that I'm happy, as in gay, or the other way round.

i went to a career opportunities fair today, and met a very funny guy, kind of english common faced geek, with a very funny expression and with a huge blonde rasta, which was leaning back and forth while he was speaking, we were speaking about his organization and about volunteering opportunities and I tell him that I'm here only for 4 days, and he is like- no waaay, wow, fantastic, and how do you find england, and I say- well it's great, I mean- the greatest thing of all is that everybody is smiling at me on the streets, and that lots of people wave hands at me, or say hello in the bus and stuff like that. and he is like- he stares at me for a bit and says: no shit! do they? and I'm like- yes, isn't that a common thing to do here? and he says- no man, not at all. most of the people are grumpy around here and people defenitely do not wave hands at other people on the streets. we start laughing and then we decide that maybe that's because I'm smiling all the time and floating around like Sandy Belle.

and I think I found a place to go volunteering: it is named centrepoint, and it deals with socially excluded and homeless young people. it seems to be quite what I have in mind about a project for tennegers in daycentres in Bucharest. they offer assistance and help for homeless kids or kids with problems to integrate and find jobs, and try to build a living, and their...

"ultimate goals are …

That we share with others: A socially inclusive society.

That is specific to us: That no young person will ever fail to realise their potential by being caught in the social exclusion trap.

To give young people on a downward spiral (especially those at risk of homelessness) a chance to turn things around and build a more fulfilling future.

(excerpt from Centrepoint's Mission statement)

It's strange and so good that last night I was writing in my new red notebook about possible ways of trying to do such a project in Romania, for the homeless kids, and I was thinking about how helpful it would be to work in a place like that here, and to see how people do it here, and now the first thing today is getting to these guys.

:-)

oysterized

2008-10-21T11:15:00.000-07:00

The "London Student" has some interesting informations about the good old OYSTER CARD- (aka the english public transportation card) :

"the Oyster card's software has been widely lambasted for its poor security, and in June 2008, Dutch researchers sucessfully hacked into the card, allowing them to steal infrmation from oblivious commuters. [...] I, like many other law-abiding citizens, also have to endure constant observation by our army of 4.2 million CCTV cameras. One may therefore mistakenly believe that this erosion of our privacy was unsurpassable; however, Oyster cards take surveillance to new heights. "

( by Janagan Alagarajah,

from The London Student, volume 29, issue 3- 20th October 2008)